Looking for Magic in All the Right Places
by Savageland
Summary: Complete. In a post-Voldemort world, magic is inexplicably failing, and Hogwarts students must take summer crash-courses in Muggle science and culture. But with the right combination of chemistry and poetry, magic might still stand a chance!
1. Could This Summer Be Even Better?

**Title: ** Looking for Magic in All the Right Places

**Chapter One:** Could This Summer Be Even Better?

**Genres:** Humour, Romance. This was my response to 'Lama's' WIKTT Summer School Challenge.  To see complete rules, go to 'When I Kissed the Teacher' Fanfic Files, Challenges, Completed Challenges.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Warning:** Occasional poetry!

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I've borrowed almost everything. All concepts and characters in this story except my own are the property of J.K. Rowling, and most of the poems I've included are adapted from actual works. I intend no disrespect or diminishment by these adaptations. Nothing here will ever emerge from the SS-HG-ship haven, and I will never make a profit from any of it.

Some chapters have Author's Notes for acknowledgements when needed.

_Lama's Challenge Premise: _ In a post-Voldemort world, the magic that held the wizarding world together is failing, and disgruntled Hogwarts students must take a summer crash-course in Muggle science and culture.  _My take on the challenge: _ Some forms of ancient magic still exist. It takes a bit of chemistry between Hermione and Snape and a dose of Muggle poetry to invoke it.

* * *

**Chapter One:** Could This Summer Be Even Better?

Albus Dumbledore, standing up at his place at Hogwarts' head table and surveying the fresh-faced troops of seventh-year students, looked more tired and drawn than Hermione had ever before seen him. Diminished. In fact, the Great Hall itself looked curiously small and gloomy with only Hogwarts' senior students in attendance and no magic giving the Hall its larger-than-life glamour. For the first time in seven years, Hermione could see the true ceiling instead of a fantastic projection of the sky. Stone, grey and slightly cobwebby, like the ceiling of a medieval church. Ordinary. Boring.

Without the magic permeating the very bones of Hogwarts, imbuing every chamber, stairway, and portrait with mystique, nothing remained but a very large and draughty building. And no magic to keep out the damp cold, either, Hermione thought sourly, burying her hands inside the sleeves of her robe to keep them warm.

'Students, it's my pleasure to welcome you to Hogwarts' summer school for emergency university preparation,' rasped Dumbledore, sounding anything but pleased. Hermione had to strain to hear him. 'As I'm sure you're all aware, the destruction of Voldemort late last year began a chain of events whose cause is unknown, but whose effects are unravelling the very fabric of the magical realm. Almost all magic has begun to disappear. You've already noticed your wands are becoming useless, and many spells are not working at all. Even most potions are being affected.'

The black-robed senior faculty members lined up on each side of their Headmaster looked grave, and the seventh years started muttering.

'Harry. . .did You-Know-Who mention anything about this before you blasted him to shreds?' murmured Ron.

'I had no idea. And so what? Was I supposed to--you know--_not_ blast him?'

'No, it's okay Harry. Blasting Voldemort was absolutely the right thing to do,' said Ron hastily.

'Yeah, well--I had no choice, did I? It was my destiny, wasn't it?'

'Shut up you two,' said Hermione in a sharp whisper.

Dumbledore held up a thin, veined hand and the Hall gradually quieted. 'Your previous magical training will no longer serve you. Your only hope of making your way in the world--or even surviving--is to learn about and adapt to Muggle ways as soon as possible.'

Draco shot Hermione a dirty look. 'Oooh, does this mean Ms. Mudblood's going to tutor us, then?'

'In your unspeakable dreams, Malfoy,' hissed Hermione.

'Senior faculty have spent the past several months upgrading their skills and drawing on the expertise of distinguished Muggles, some of whom have graciously agreed to serve as faculty-in-residence here over the summer. In collaboration with these guests, the faculty have created an intensive program of summer studies designed to help you prepare for entry into Muggle universities--or at the very least, for a life in which you can no longer depend on magic.'

He sat back down wearily. Looking grim, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Vector, Snape, and Lupin circulated course schedules and dismissed the seventh years who, still not entirely sure what had hit them, milled around the Hall for a while. Eventually they gathered into their old House groupings to read over their materials.

'Well,' said Ron. 'Could be worse. Vector for Maths. Sprout for Biology. And looks like McGonagall's taking over History.'

'Hang about,' said Harry. 'Monday morning, first thing.' His finger pointed. Several pairs of eyes followed.

'Oh, bloody hell!' Ron moaned. 'Snape! Should've known! What's _he_ teaching?'

'Chemistry of course,' said Hermione briskly. 'Actually, I'd better go. I have to start working on a proposal for him.'

'A proposal? For Snape?' Ron snorted with laughter, and even Harry raised his eyebrows, grinning.

'Oh sod off, you lot,' Hermione snapped, but then, looking at her two best friends, she couldn't suppress a slight smile. 'I need him to supervise me for an Honours chemistry project,' she added. 'I won't have much of a chance of getting into the Cambridge Honours programme otherwise.'

'You're going to work side-by-side with the Greasy Git? Ugh. Better you than me,' said Ron cheerfully.

'Right. Well, I'm sure I'll survive the experience. See you later, boys.' Slinging her huge bagful of books onto her shoulder, Hermione staggered out of the Great Hall.

'She seems a bit eager to cosy up to the Snapester,' Ron said, looking after her.

'You think?' said Harry absently, still reading his schedule. Then he clapped Ron's shoulder. 'Hey. Football to replace Quidditch.'

'If it doesn't involve flying, I'm not interested,' Ron grumbled.

'Someone named Beckham's coaching,' said Harry. 'Who is this bloke? Anyone know?'

'Beckham?' said Dean. 'Oh yeah. I've heard about him. Big player in the Muggle world. Got kicked off his team, though. Bonked his lovely assistant and broke his wife's heart.'

Lavender and Parvati exchanged intrigued looks. 'I must introduce myself,' said Lavender.

Padma, Parvati's twin, had drifted over from the Ravenclaw group. 'Sean McCourt and Maxine Jones are coming here too,' she said.

'Who are _they_?' said Ron, looking annoyed. Padma glared back at him. She'd never quite forgiven Ron for dumping him at their fourth-year Yule Ball.

'He's an Irish novelist and she's an English-American poet,' she said in that special tone parents use for very stupid children. 'They've both won tons of awards. They must be coming to team-teach the Muggle literature class.'

'What's--literature?' said Lavender.

'Stories and poetry,' said Padma. 'I started reading some of it a year or two ago. Some of it's quite interesting. Lots of romance and violence.'

'Really?' Lavender perked up.

'She only likes that stuff because her boyfriend fancies himself a poet,' said Parvati. 'They spend hours reading together.'

'Ugh, Padma' said Lavender. 'If that's all you and your boyfriend can think of to do together, then you and I need to have a serious talk.'

'So. . .' said Ron, sighing. 'Chemistry with Snape, literature with two unknown Muggles, sports involving way too much exertion--can anyone think how this wonderful summer could be even _better_?'

'Nothing personal, Harry,' muttered Neville, 'But if I'd known offing old You-Know-Who would condemn us to four months of summer school from hell, I might have had second thoughts about joining the D.A.'

'Stuff it, Nev,' The Boy Who Lived But Lately Wished He Could Drop Off the Face of the Earth replied gloomily.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I know Beckham's slightly anachronistic!  But I can't resist sending him to Hogwarts anyway.


	2. Stop Gaps and Staircases

**Title: ** Looking for Magic in All the Right Places

**Chapter Two:** Stop Gaps and Staircases

**Genres:** Humour, Romance, and my response to 'Lama's' WIKTT Summer School Challenge.  For more details, see Chapter One.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Warning:** Occasional poetry!

**Disclaimer:** Please see Chapter One. Some chapters have Author's Notes for acknowledgements when needed.

* * *

**Chapter Two:**  Stop-Gaps and Staircases

Summer school for would-be Muggles had been underway for about a week when it became apparent that Hogwarts was falling apart more rapidly than anyone had imagined.  The moving stairs were slowing down to a crawl, and some--already frozen in place like the parts of a rusty old machine--extended forever over empty space.  Several unfortunate students had had to be rescued from those stairs with ropes and ladders.  Many of the portraits--including the Gryffindor Fat Lady--were empty of human subjects, the frames abandoned by their tenants.  Ghosts like Nearly Headless Nick continued to haunt the halls but were becoming more transparent as students gradually lost their abilities to see beyond physical reality.  Unfortunately, Peeves was quite comfortable operating in any environment, whether magical or Muggle, so the beleaguered inhabitants of Hogwarts were still pelted with objects at every opportunity.

Severus Snape, former Potions Master and now professor of Chemistry, was one of the few senior faculty members who managed to maintain a semblance of calm, cool collectedness.  Unlike some of his colleagues, he hadn't had a great deal of difficulty with the transition between his former magical calling and his new teaching duties. Chemistry, after all, had deep roots in magical practice and could trace its lineage to the great, ancient civilizations of Egypt.  The Alchemical truth that all substances are composed of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water harmonised with the charming Muggle concept that four elements--hydrogen (H), oxygen (O), nitrogen (N), and carbon (C)--make up ninety-nine percent of all living organisms.  From there, it hadn't been too great a leap for Snape to master a relatively simple framework like the periodic table of elements, and then to understand how ingredients interacted on the molecular, rather than the magical, level.

In fact, having to learn a new skill was all rather new and interesting. Snape had been getting a little bored with teaching potions year after year.  That was one reason he'd been lusting for so long after the DADA job, which Lupin had snatched out from under him.  The novelty of learning chemistry almost made up for his first disastrous Monday class with the blank-eyed, sullen crowd of Harry Potter syncophants and the slightly more sympathetic but even denser Draco Malfoy group.

The bright-eyed Hermione Granger had partially rescued the day.  While still, in his opinion, the most insufferable Know-It-All on the planet, she at least wanted to learn the material.  It looked as though she might--gods help him--be the only other person at Hogwarts who shared his interest in understanding the chemical properties of formerly magical potions.

An understanding that might, possibly, provide insights into reconstructing their power.

If that enterprise failed, he could always move to Hogsmeade and open his own apothecary.

But Lupin.  What would Lupin do once all the magic drained away from the world? Lupin would soon be out of a job.  Poor old Lupin.

'Milk chocolate Easter bunny,' Snape said smugly to the gargoyle guarding the secret door to Dumbledore's tower.  The door opened, but no wooden spiral staircase descended.  Snape poked his head through the door and looked up.  The bottom step of the staircase was about level with his head.  It showed no signs of moving.

'Milk chocolate Easter bunny!' Snape said loudly, feeling a bit idiotic.  Nothing.

'Dear boy,' came Dumbledore's voice very faintly from above.  'The staircase is no longer reliable.  If you can reach the bottom step, then just pull yourself up and climb.'

'Just--pull myself. . .!  Bugger me,' Snape muttered, all smugness gone.  With an effort, he chinned himself up, feet swinging, and managed to scramble onto the lowest step.  Scowling, robes slightly askew, he plodded up six floors to Dumbledore's office.

'The stairs haven't been working for several days now,' said the Headmaster apologetically as Snape stumbled in, panting.  'It means I get very few visitors these days.  Do take a seat, dear boy, and catch your breath.  Lemon drop?'

'Nnuuh,' wheezed Snape.

'Ah.  Well,' Dumbledore seated himself behind his desk, which was curiously bare. 'Let me get to the point, Severus.  Even though we'll soon reach a point where Dark Arts won't even exist, I retained Defence Against the Dark Arts among our summer school course offerings.'

'Yes. I was wondering about that,' said Snape, taking deep breaths.

'You may also have noticed that I've listed our two Muggle literature teachers, Mr. McCourt and Ms. Jones, as guest lecturers in Remus's class.'

Snape stared at Dumbledore, his eyes narrowed.  'Forgive me, but I'd assumed that was a mistake in the schedules.  A--what do Muggles call it?--a typo.  After all, the house elves are so unused to taking dictation.'

'No, no mistake,' said Dumbledore.

'Then I don't understand.

Dumbledore smiled, and his eyes twinkled for the first time in weeks.  Snape braced himself for bad news.

'I believe,' said the Headmaster, 'that of all the proposed solutions and stop-gaps we're adopting, and of all the Muggle skills we're learning in order to survive in a world without spells, wands, and potions, our best hope for the future lies in rediscovering one of the most ancient powers.'

'Which is--?'

'The power to name.'

'To name what?

The old man leaned back in his chair and regarded the younger ex-wizard with a benevolence that Snape found enormously irritating.

'The power to name,' he repeated, still smiling.  'Think about it.  Particularly in relation to our two literary guests, with respect to whom I need your assistance.'

'_My_ assistance?'

'Severus, you really must stop repeating everything I say.'

'Perhaps,' said Snape through his teeth, 'if you would kindly clarify your meaning, Headmaster. . .'

'I'm getting there, my dear boy.  I understand that in addition to those abilities with which we're all familiar, you are also, so to speak, well-versed in Muggle poetry.'

Snape opened his mouth to ask--How do you know that?  He thought better of it, closed his mouth, folded his hands in his lap, and looked expectant.  Dumbledore nodded approvingly.

'Starting this coming Tuesday evening, I'd like you to attend DADA classes as Remus's assistant.'

Snape rose halfway out of his chair.

'I? Lupin's _assistant_?'

Dumbledore held up his hand and gently motioned for Snape to sit back down.  'Perhaps _liaison_ would be a more appropriate description.  Remus's background in literature is--erm --somewhat sparse.  Your knowledge of poetry will help provide much-needed context.  You'll be able to mediate between the now-fading world of magic and a world in which another kind of magic can hold sway--for those who know how to use it.'

'Are you suggesting,' said Snape, picking his words with care, 'that poetry and stories can somehow harness power?'

'If you're willing to cooperate with Remus and his two lecturers, perhaps we will be able to test that theory.'

Snape sighed, adopting his best put-upon look.

'Very well, if you insist.'

He would rather have died than let Dumbledore know how piqued he was by any chance, however slim, to wield true power again.

=========== 

Continued in Ch. 3 . . .


	3. That Strange Prickling Feeling

**Title:** Looking for Magic in All the Right Plac

**Chapter Three:** That Strange Prickling Feeling

**Genre:** Humour, Romance, and my response to the WIKTT 'Summer School Challenge.' To see complete rules, go to 'When I Kissed the Teacher' Files Challenge Files, (Closed Challenges).

**Rating:** PG-13

**Warning:** Occasional poetry!

**Disclaimer:** Please see Chapter One. Some chapters have Author's Notes for acknowledgements when needed.

* * *

  
**Chapter Three:** That Strange Prickling Feeling

After dragging his Monday-morning summer school class through the periodic table and bashing their hard little heads against the indescribably difficult concepts of acid and alkali, Snape was feeling discouraged about his brand-new career as a chemistry teacher. He was almost looking forward to the upcoming evening of poetry. But just after dismissing his class, and whilst he was dumping an armful of quizzes on his desk, a discreet 'Erm, Professor' from behind made him start.

He turned, scowling, to see Hermione Granger standing a few feet from him. She was holding a parchment and looking uncharacteristically smug.

'Yes?' he snapped.

She held out the parchment. 'My Honours project proposal. You asked me to hand it in today.'

Snape's scowl vanished. 'Oh. Of course,' he said, and held out his hand for the parchment. 'Thank you, Miss Granger.'

Her face fell. 'Aren't you going to look at it, Professor?'

He noticed he could actually see her face for a change. Her wild chestnut hair was pulled back and neatly contained at the nape of her neck. It made her look older.

'Now?'

'If you could, please. I'd really like to know what you think. If you approve, I can start my research right away.'

He gave her a long, level look, and after a moment she dropped her eyes.

'Very well. Take a seat.' He indicated one of the benches, and he settled himself behind his desk, unfurling her parchment. He frowned at the messy handwriting. She noticed his expression.

'I'm sorry, Professor. My Enscribing Quill's stopped working, and my own handwriting's appalling. I wish I could use my mother's laptop.'

'Your mother's--_what_?' Snape wasn't sure whether to be shocked or titillated.

'Erm--it would take too long to explain. Sorry,' said Hermione, and he saw with amusement that she was blushing. Interesting. He began skimming her proposal with the intention of coming up with a quick opinion and sending her on her way.

Then he stopped skimming and started reading. Merlin's skullcap! Had the girl somehow read his mind? She was proposing to analyse the base ingredients of several formerly magical healing potions to determine what, if anything, was unique about their molecular structure and interactions. Exactly what he'd been considering. But she seemed to be taking his musings much farther. For one thing--what did she mean by. . .?

'. . .commercial applications?' he asked, and realised he'd spoken aloud.

'Oh. What I mean is that if we--er, you--can successfully reproduce working non-magical versions of these potions, you may be able to sell them to Muggle companies. For Muggle currency.'

'Really?' said Snape, his brows creasing. 'I've always thought that the results of academic research should be freely shared.'

'Well,' said Hermione uncomfortably. 'Of course. But in the Muggle world, many schools have to rely on private funds to get by, so researchers often sell their ideas.'

'How uncivilised. But putting that aside for now,' said Snape, leaning back in his chair. 'I believe your proposal has some merit, Miss Granger, and I'm willing to consider it. In the meantime, you have my permission to make a start on your reading-list.'

Hermione beamed, her brown eyes shining with pleasure. 'Thank you so much, Professor. I'm really looking forward to working with you!' She bounced to her feet, slung her bag over her shoulder, and almost flew out of the classroom, leaving Snape feeling discombobulated.

Had any student ever said that to him, or smiled at him like that?

The world must indeed be falling apart.

==============

On Tuesday evening, Harry persuaded Hermione and Ron to show up at Lupin's classroom a few minutes early. 'I want a front-row seat when Lupin flattens Snape,' said Harry firmly, steering his friends to a bench close to the centre of the room.

'What makes you think Snape's going to get flattened?' said Hermione, annoyed.

'Oh, sorry. I forgot we're not allowed to say anything bad about your new pet teacher,' Ron smirked.

'Ron, I'd tell you to grow up if that weren't completely impossible.' Hermione slammed her books down on the table and plopped herself on the bench.

In groups of two or three, the other seventh years straggled in. Draco and his little gang, looking insufferably smug, settled themselves opposite Hermione and the boys.

'What drugs are _they_ on?' muttered Ron.

'They think Snape's here to put Lupin in his place and they're expecting to enjoy the show,' said Harry, his green eyes fixed on Draco.

'I'd give anything now to slam a good hex on those Slytherins,' said Ron mournfully.

Lupin came into the room and moved to the centre. As the students fell silent, Snape entered the classroom, his face sullen as usual.

'Professor Snape! Please join me,' said Lupin. Snape approached him and stopped a few feet away. The two former wizards looked at each other expressionlessly. Then Lupin pulled his wand out of his sleeve and raised it.

'Wingardium Leviosa!' He waved his wand at Snape. Hermione suppressed a gasp.

But Snape did not levitate so much as an inch. He folded his arms and smirked at Lupin, who waved his wand again and repeated the spell. Still nothing.

Then Lupin turned to face Harry, Ron, and Hermione, pointing his wand straight at the young woman. 'Wingardium Leviosa!' One of Hermione's books flopped once or twice on the table like a dead fish, but Hermione herself didn't budge.

'Well.' Lupin put his wand away. 'I hope you're all convinced that magic spells--that is, our usual means of attack and defense--are by now almost completely ineffective.'

'So why are we here in a DADA class . . . sir?' said Draco, folding his arms. Harry glared at him.

'Besides reinforcing your knowledge of Muggle culture--a good form of self-defense for all of us nowadays--we've been invited to test a theory about another possible form of power,' said Lupin, giving Draco a cool glance.

'If you have anything more urgent to attend to, Mr. Malfoy, you have my permission to leave,' Snape added silkily.

Draco's eyes shifted to Goyle and to Pansy, each seated beside him. They looked down. Glaring at Snape, Draco put his arms on the table before him.

'If there are no other comments . . .?' said Lupin mildly. 'Right. On with the show. Professor Snape has agreed to attend this class at our Headmaster's invitation, and will provide support for our two guests.' Snape threw Lupin a dark glance, which the DADA professor ignored. 'Our two guest lecturers arrived at Hogwarts only just today, and I'm sure they're a bit tired, so I'm very pleased to see them here tonight. Mr. Sean McCourt and Dr. Maxine Jones.' Lupin gestured to the back of the classroom.

'Doctor?' said Hermione in a low voice as all the students craned their necks. Two Muggles rose from the bench where they'd been quietly sitting and made their way down the shallow steps to the centre of the room. Except for his piercing blue eyes, the Irishman was very ordinary looking: middle-aged, average height, short dark hair, wearing worn brown corduroys and a seedy looking green jumper. The British-American poet, however, was striking in the extreme: as tall as Snape, her graying hair cropped to the exact shape of her lovely head, she wore a turquoise robe that set off her coffee-coloured skin and large black eyes.

As this queenly personage brushed past Hermione and the two boys, Padma, sitting just behind, leant forward and whispered in Hermione's ear--'Doctor, as in PhD. Jonathan says she teaches at something called a liberal arts college in Vermont.'

'Who's Jonathan?' said Hermione.

'My boyfriend,' Padma said, with a hint of a giggle.

McCourt and Jones turned to face the students. The poet glanced at the novelist with a slight smile. He nodded. Maxine Jones raised her proud head, took a breath, and filled the entire room with her voice:

'By this flame, branded  
By this water, cleansed,  
By earth, unburied,  
By air, released.

The spiteful shadow is trimmed from your heel,  
The nine wounds from your mother's whip   
are washed from your blood,  
Your dark of father is filled with father love.

By this star, enlightened,  
By night, unchained,  
By laughter, reclaimed,  
By this kiss, set free.'

Hermione felt the hairs rise on her arms and the back of her neck, as if power were crawling over her skin. Snape, she saw, was standing very still, his eyes fixed intently on the woman in turquoise. Hermione glanced at Harry and Ron. They were looking polite but a bit puzzled.

'This poem,' said Jones, in a quieter, more normal voice, 'is part of a longer work that I call "Spell to Open a Closed Heart." It's meant to be spoken aloud, like an incantation.'

Snape, now flicking his gaze across the rows of students, was startled to see Hermione staring at him. As their eyes locked, she looked away.

'As with any spell or charm,' said Lupin, 'you must not only speak it aloud, but you must also muster the emotional energy, the will, and the belief that when you speak it, something _will_ happen.'

McCourt now spoke for the first time. His light, musical voice also managed to fill the room. 'I notice you've brought the books of poems and stories Doctor Jones and I recommended. But--from now on, we don't want you to bring any books to this class. We'll set readings for you, and we'll be asking you to memorise at least one poem for each class.' McCourt smiled as one or two soft groans greeted this announcement. 'We understand from Professor Lupin that you've already had years of experience remembering spells. So this should be a piece of cake.'

'Did any of you _feel_ anything when I spoke my poem?' Jones asked. Dead silence fell. When her amused glance lingered on Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the boys shuffled their feet and stared at the floor. But Hermione tentatively raised her hand.

'Yes?' said Jones.

'Erm--I felt a sort of prickling at the back of my neck.'

'Yeah--so did I,' said another voice a few feet away. A few other students nodded, and one or two muttered 'Yeah,' or 'Me, too.'

'Have you felt that before?' asked Jones.

'Yes,' said Hermione. 'When casting spells. Especially powerful ones.'

Harry and Ron stared at her. 'Cripes,' said Ron softly. Jones just smiled.

'What I'm asking you to think about,' said Lupin, 'is this: even if forms of magic we're familiar with appear to be vanishing, other forms of power may still be accessible to us.'

For a few seconds, the students stared at Lupin, Jones, and McCourt. Then the former leader of Dumbledore's Army raised his hand. Snape scowled, but Lupin nodded.

'Tell us more about this power,' said Harry Potter.

At this show of open-mindedness, Lupin let out a quiet breath of relief. He'd not been at all certain how this battle-hardened bunch would react to the idea of having to learn about poetry. It seemed so--well, impractical.

But one thing was certain: he, Snape, and the bemused Muggles now had their work cut out for them.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Maxine Jones' 'Spell to Open a Closed Heart' is adapted from Jeni Couzyn's poem 'Spell to Soften the Hard Heart of a Woman.' Born in 1942, Couzyn now lives in England.


	4. The Boyz Who Rapped

**Title:** Looking for Magic in All the Right Places

**Chapter Four:** The Boyz Who Rapped

**Genre:** Humour, Romance, and my response to the WIKTT 'Summer School Challenge.' To see complete rules, go to 'When I Kissed the Teacher' Files Challenge Files, (Closed Challenges).

**Rating:** PG-13

**Warning:** Occasional poetry!

**Disclaimer:** Please see Chapter One. Some chapters have Author's Notes for acknowledgements when needed.

* * *

**Chapter Four:** The Boyz Who Rapped

Snape had affected his most ironic attitude throughout this most unorthodox DADA class, but every single moment of it was etched into his memory. Now, as midnight neared and he paced his private quarters, his thoughts were seething. Maxine Jones' 'Spell' had made the back of his neck prickle and a shiver too deep for comfort run through him. He recognised his own deep, instinctive responses to true magic.

He had to tap into that power. He _had_ to.

He'd also noticed how intently Hermione had gazed at him when Jones later repeated a few lines from that poem. Snape had felt her regard like heat, and that perturbed him far more than all the chaos of the past few months combined.

He breathed a quick prayer to all the twenty-six gods of Khem that whilst they worked together on her Honours project, Miss Granger would give him no angst.

His mood wasn't improved by the fact that he couldn't get his fire started. What was it Muggles used? Matches? Rubbing two sticks together? _Damn_!

=============

Hermione had come to hate the Great Hall as well as what passed for meals around Hogwarts these days. The poor house elves were truly out of their depth trying to keep the place clean and provide food the old-fashioned way: by cooking it. Or trying to. Today's breakfast: toast burnt _and_ stone-cold. Pumpkin juice with lumps. The worst, though, were mugs filled with lukewarm water into which the victimised diner was expected to _dump a teabag_. Ghastly.

It was sad to see the formerly grand and glittering Hall getting gloomier and dirtier by the hour. Hermione wondered whether Dumbledore, or any of the faculty other than Snape, had thought about how Hogwarts was going to pay to keep itself up, now that the 'free energy' provided by magic was no longer available.

Hermione sighed. It didn't look as if her Honours chemistry project would be opening up the floodgates of either power or funding anytime soon. She knew she was letting impatience get the better of her, but the project--now about a month old--had apparently stalled. Her analyses so far of potions ingredients and chemical reactions hadn't revealed any pathways to power. Not even Snape had been able to provide further insights.

Hermione sighed. At this rate, with only about two more months left of summer school, she'd probably get her recommendation to Cambridge, but not much else.

And that wasn't the only thing about chemistry she found disappointing. Snape seemed determined to uphold his reputation as a cold, unbending bastard. She'd thought, near the beginning of the project, that he might soften a bit, open up a crack. Try acting like a human being. Treat her with at least a token amount of respect, not just look at her as a bright-eyed, bushy-haired, irritating schoolgirl.

The DADA class, on the other hand, was getting _really_ interesting. The more the chemistry of substances disappointed her, the more the chemistry of words intrigued her. She had to admire Remus Lupin for bravely tackling such a new area, making it possible for students to explore unknown realms.

Hermione still wasn't sure why Snape attended DADA classes so regularly, but she had to admit he seemed a little different in that environment. He listened closely, absorbing the bardic cadences of McCourt's metaphors and Jones' images with an almost greedy intensity. He seemed to give off a minor force of his own, like a dark lodestone, and she found herself stealing looks at him to try and track his reactions.

More than once, she'd caught him looking at her too. The moment their glances met, they skidded away from each other like two magnets bearing the same charge.

In chemistry class, and when supervising her Honours project, he never looked at her or spoke to her except to issue curt instructions. Perhaps he was as disappointed in her performance as she was.

Hermione's eyes filled with tears. She couldn't remember when she'd last been so unhappy, so purposeless. Even the peril-filled days of Voldemort had at least been exciting.

'Hey, 'Mione.' Ron's voice broke into her bleak thoughts, and for once she was grateful for the interruption. He and Harry slid into places at the table beside her. Each of them stared aghast at the breakfast offerings.

'Bloody hell,' said Harry with a groan. 'It's getting worse.'

'You alright?' Ron said to Hermione, his brows creasing.

'Yes, fine. It's just a bit depressing being here now, isn't it?'

Harry sighed and helped himself to burnt toast. 'Depressing? There we were yesterday afternoon on running around for hours on the grass beneath what used to be our Quidditch pitch, and this Beckham character's drilling us to death'--

'I think he hates being here,' Ron broke in.

'--and I totally understand the concept of this game, but it doesn't compare to the complexities of Quidditch'-- said Harry.

'All we do is run till we practically puke'--

'--and any idiot can do that, and all we have to do is get one ball past the goaltender and into that stupid net. No Snitch. Not even Bludgers. Let alone no flying. Where's the challenge?' said Harry.

'Though Dean and Seamus really seem to enjoy it, for some reason,' said Ron with disgust.

'Well,' said Hermione. 'Tonight we get to try duelling with poetry. That should be fun.'

Ron and Harry looked at her. Ron raised his eyebrows.

'So you're a big fan of poetry now, are you? Chemistry losing its--erm--charms?' he said with a faint smile.

'Shut up, Ron.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, grinning.

=============

'Now listen,' said Lupin, striding into the centre of the room and gathering the DADA class into an attitude of attention. Snape was sitting in his usual place off to the side where he could see the students, whilst Jones and McCourt commanded a front-row bench.

'Your homework for tonight was to create your own short invocation by putting together all the concepts we've covered so far: poetic structure, rhythm, metaphor, imagery, and how to project voice and emotion. Everyone with me so far?'

Everyone nodded.

'The rules are simple. You'll go in pairs, and each of you will deliver your poem to the other person. Remember that you're not allowed to invoke anything resembling the Unforgivable Curses.'

'As if that would work anyway,' Draco said in a loud whisper to Pansy, who smirked.

'Our guest lecturers will judge each poem,' Lupin continued, ignoring Draco, 'Then Professor Snape will offer an opinion on its potential value as a magical invocation.'

'This is such a waste of time,' Draco stage-whispered again. Snape leaned forward and fixed Draco with a glare.

'As I said on the first evening of this class, Mr. Malfoy, please feel free to leave if you have better things to do,' he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

For a moment, Draco held Snape's gaze, then with a disgusted snort, he folded his arms and scowled at Jones and McCourt instead. McCourt rolled his eyes. Jones stared through the blond young man with queenly indifference.

'I'd like to give you the opportunity to go first, Draco,' said Lupin, with a gleam in his golden eyes. 'Just in case it turns out you do have other engagements later on.'

There were smiles and smothered whispers among the Gryffindor contingent, which earned another glare from Snape.

Draco's mouth opened indignantly. He gaped for a moment, then realising he was cornered, muttered, 'Yes, Professor.'

'As for your sparring partner--Harry, would you be willing?' said Lupin.

With a big grin, Harry rose to his feet. 'Absolutely, sir.' Ron clapped him on the back.

The two young men moved to the centre of the classroom in front of their two Muggle judges. Hermione half-expected them to take out their wands.

'Draco? Anytime you're ready,' said Lupin, standing off to one side.

'Erm,' said Draco.

'Excellent beginning,' Ron whispered to Hermione. She clamped her mouth down on a giggle.

Then Draco took a deep breath and whirled to face Harry.

'You've lived a lie and now you wish you'd died  
You intoxicated everyone with your own pride  
You offed the bad one, yeah thought you'd swung it  
Ego's out to dry now, can't find where you've hung it?  
He'll stab you too, don't be fooled by his charm  
When your back's turned he might do bodily harm.'

There was shocked silence. Harry stood, frozen. Draco smiled fiercely. Jones raised her eyebrows.

'Not a bad start,' she said. 'You've captured the basic rhythm and the theme of violence that characterises rap. But your switch to "he" is a little puzzling. There seem to be two different characters operating here. You might want to re-think that.'

'As an incantation,' added Snape from behind her, 'it could backfire, and _you_ could end up being the one stabbed in the back. However, though I'm not sure what "rap" is, this was a good first effort, Mr. Malfoy,' he conceded. Draco relaxed and looked smug.

'Crap,' whispered Ron to Hermione.

'Now you, Harry,' said Lupin.

'Go, Harry, go,' muttered Ron.

'This isn't a Quidditch match!' Hermione hissed back.

Lupin looked out at the students. 'It's all right if you want to cheer on your mates, as long as the encouragement doesn't get out of hand,' he said with a grin. Snape frowned and looked as if he were about to speak, but seemed to think better of it.

Go, Harry!' said Ron.

'Slam him!' came from Padma. As several heads swivelled to look at her, she blushed.

'Slam him. Good one,' said Dean approvingly.

Harry, green eyes narrowed, looked at Draco for a moment. Then he faced his competitor square on, his pose as confident as a gunslinger's.

'What happens to a coward's dream?  
Does it dry up like a snake's shed skin?  
Or fester like a sore spreading from within?  
Does it stink like rotten meat?  
Or get covered with flies like an ancient sweet?  
Maybe it hides from all human sight  
To shiver and sob alone in the night.  
What happens to a coward's dream?'

As the echoes of Harry's voice--strong and faintly mocking--died away, Draco flushed angrily. Several students applauded.

'The repetition of questions is powerful, and the similes are internally consistent,' said McCourt.

'I liked the circular structure. Very tight,' Jones added.

'The repetitions give it some power as an incantation,' Snape said, though it seemed to Hermione that he begrudged the compliment.

When Harry sat down again, Ron clapped him on the shoulder. 'I think you won this round,' he said, grinning.

'Harry, did Draco's poem have any effect on you?' said Hermione worriedly.

Harry shook his head. 'No way. He was just being his usual nasty self. But I think _I_ got to Draco. Look at him.' The Slytherin ringleader, safely flanked by Pansy and his cohorts, glowered at Harry. His face was still flushed.

'Hmm,' said Hermione, feeling uneasy, and found her gaze moving over to Snape. He was looking at her, but the moment their glances met, he turned his head sharply away.

She wondered why he kept looking at her and what he was thinking.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Draco's 'You've lived a lie' rap is loosely inspired by some of Eninem's lyrics.

Harry's 'What happens to a coward's dream?' uses the basic structure and some wording from from 'Harlem: What happens to a dream deferred?' by the American poet Langston Hughes (1902 - 1967).


	5. Acid and Digestion

**Title:** Looking for Magic in All the Right Places

**Chapter Five:** Acid and Digestion

**Genre:** Humour, Romance, and my response to the WIKTT 'Summer School Challenge.' To see complete rules, go to 'When I Kissed the Teacher' Files Challenge Files, (Closed Challenges).

**Rating:** PG-13

**Warning:** Occasional poetry!

**Disclaimer:** Please see Chapter One. Some chapters have Author's Notes for acknowledgements when needed.

* * *

**Chapter Five:** Acid and Digestion

Alone in Snape's lab, Hermione chewed her lower lip anxiously. Maybe she shouldn't have chosen Veritaserum for her first analysis. It was probably a little too ambitious. But some vials Snape had made up as part of the arsenal of the Battle against Voldemort were readily available, and he'd given her permission to work with them.

The algebraic calculations involved in quantitative analysis would be a piece of cake after Arithmancy. But, while Snape's potion-making equipment was state-of-the-art, to say he had even the rudiments of a proper chemical lab was--well--generous. Hermione could do algebra till she dropped dead, but if she couldn't show some familiarity with lab-based analytical methods, the Cambridge Honours programme would be an impossible goal.

And speaking of the impossible, Hogwarts had no computer. No electricity either.

Far from fast-tracking into Cambridge, it was increasingly likely that she'd have to spend a year or two at some polytechnic. . . taking qualifying courses.

Gods. What a decline and fall.

Hermione eventually forced herself through the motions of doing an acid-based analysis of the Veritaserum. The results were as unexciting as she'd feared. She was writing up her report when the door between Snape's classroom and the lab opened with a bang. Snape swept in, his robes swirling, creating a breeze that made parchments fly up into her face.

That was the absolute dizzy limit. Hermione fixed her professor with a poisonous look.

'Do you realise that raising a draught like that could have ruined my analysis?' she snapped.

Snape stopped dead, staring at Hermione in disbelief.

'Not that it would matter if it were ruined,' she muttered, turning back to her parchment. 'It's all bollocks anyway.'

'I take it,' said Snape, his voice very low, 'that your work is not going well.'

Hermione sighed and turned to look at him, wearily pushing loose tendrils of hair back from her face. 'If I'm lucky, I'll master a few rudiments. But I won't be able to blunder around a _real lab_'--she accented those words with a sarcasm worthy of Snape--'without making an idiot of myself. There's so much more I need to know, and so much I can't possibly hope to learn in this--ruined pile of a school!'

To her horror, her throat thickened with tears and her vision blurred. She took a deep, shaky breath and turned back toward her table, willing herself to stay calm, telling herself she'd rather die than show Snape how close to hysteria she was.

'I'm sorry if I was disrespectful, Professor,' she managed. 'I'll keep trying. That's all I can promise.'

She felt him move behind her and closed her eyes. Her lashes were wet. She waited for the deadly barb, the cold remark, that she knew was coming.

Then she felt his hands rest lightly on her shoulders. Her eyes flew open. Her whole body tensed.

'Miss Granger.' The voice was gentle as silk, dark as night. 'I owe you an apology. I had no intention of pushing you into doing the impossible. I've neglected my responsibility of providing support, and have taken your hard work for granted. It won't happen again. That's _my_ promise.'

She sat and simply breathed, not believing what she was hearing.

He removed his hands from her shoulders, leaving a strange warmth where they had rested. He moved so he was standing close beside her. She dared to look at him. He was bending to look at her report, his black hair falling around his sharp-nosed face. He nodded, then looked at her, and for the first time she boldly met his unblinking gaze.

'I wish I could arrange for an entire gas chromatography/mass spectrometry suite, but we'll have to settle for a common flame ionisation detector. Even that won't be new, but it should at least be functional.'

'It will help,' said Hermione, a bit shakily. She couldn't stop looking at him.

Then Snape straightened. 'Now, Miss Granger, please go and get some rest.'

As she took the now rather hazardous route back to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione admitted to herself that yes, she'd had a growing obsession since summer school began about Snape's extraordinarily disturbing dark gaze. But never had she imagined that the words she'd hear from his lips during their first moment of prolonged eye-contact would be 'flame ionisation detector, gas chromatography, and mass spectrometry.'

She found herself smiling for the first time in weeks.

==============

'Some say the world will end in fire,  
Some say in ice.  
From what I've seen of wrath and ire  
I hold with those who favour fire.  
But if it had to perish twice,  
I think I know enough of fate  
To say that for destruction ice  
Is also great  
And would suffice.'

'That's really good, Nev!' said Harry, while Ron clapped loudly to help cover the sound of Draco's snort of laughter.

'An excellent effort, Mr. Longbottom,' said McCourt. 'The deceptively simple, almost clichéd language hints at a considerable depth of irony.'

'Er--really? I mean, thanks,' said Neville, blushing. 'I just liked the contrasts.'

'I think,' said Lupin, 'that you've _all _made notable progress over the past weeks. Wouldn't you agree, Professor Snape?'

Snape, sitting in his usual place, his arms folded, smirked. 'The students have managed to create some remarkably entertaining pieces.'

'Shall I convey our idea to the Headmaster?'

'If you're willing to climb that staircase to tell him,' said Snape.

'You're going to ask him if we can have our slam?' Padma said eagerly.

'I think everyone's ready for a challenge,' said Jones, smiling.

==============

A few days later, Dumbledore announced that the deteriorating Great Hall would be closed off. Part of the kitchen had been cleared so tables could be set up for meals. 'Otherwise, our house-elves will simply be unable to cope,' said the Headmaster sadly.

'Maybe now the food won't be cold,' said Ron, as he and Harry joined the faculty and the other seventh-years down to breakfast. As everyone piled into the kitchen, causing the house-elves to scurry around in a panic, there was an interesting moment of realising that there were only three large tables to be shared by students in all four Houses as well as senior faculty and Muggle guests. Dumbledore looked on patiently as people milled around, deciding with whom to sit. Parvati and Lavender, of course, made a bee-line for Beckham, trapping him between them. Draco and the Slytherins closed ranks, staking out the end-section of another table. Most of the faculty, as often happens in these situations, clustered together for protection against the students.

Harry and Ron moved too slowly to have first choice of seating. The only spaces available were at the same table as the Slytherins, but fortunately near the opposite end. 'Oh, hell,' Harry grumbled.

'Puts you in a good position to slam Draco again if you feel like it,' said Ron cheerfully. Harry grinned back.

'Hey, where's 'Mione?' said Ron. Harry poked him in the ribs and pointed. Hermione, just coming into the kitchen, was talking with Sean McCourt. The storyteller said something, smiling, and she laughed.

'Mione!' Ron waved. She spotted him, waved back, and came over to them.

Snape, meanwhile, hadn't seated himself yet; he and Lupin had been engaged in an intense conversation. By the pinched look of his mouth, Hermione guessed something hadn't pleased him.

Lupin claimed the last empty seat within the faculty cluster, beside Maxine Jones, favouring her with a big smile.

The only other obviously empty seat was beside Hermione, at the end of the table.

'Oh bugger,' Ron hissed in her ear as Snape approached. 'So much for being able to digest breakfast.'

Snape seated himself, ignoring the mere students. As if he'd sent a signal, house-elves approached the tables with large steaming dishes. Ron's eyes bugged as appetising heaps of sausage, mounds of scrambled eggs, fried tomatoes, and fresh pastries with honey were deposited. Elves with carafes poured hot coffee. Everyone dug in.

'Why's the food so good all of a sudden?' said Harry, through a mouthful of croissant.

'Mr. McCourt,' Hermione paused to sip her coffee. 'He once worked as a cook to support his writing. He came down here early this morning and helped the elves with the menu.'

'Helped?' snorted Harry. 'More like whipped them into shape. This is great.'

'I don't mind Muggle cooking,' said Ron. 'Kind of a novelty.'

'I'm afraid the novelty is bound to wear off very soon, Mr. Weasley,' said Snape. 'This is our future.' He stared bleakly into his now-empty mug, which a house-elf hastily refilled.

'Well,' said Hermione, 'If the future means coffee _this_ good, I think I can live with it.'

'Hmm.' Harry looked at her with interest. 'You seem rather chuffed about something, 'Mione. What gives?'

Hermione did not let herself catch Snape's eye. She just smiled.

Fortunately, Dumbledore chose this moment to stand and gently rap a spoon against his mug. 'May I have everyone's attention?' The buzz of conversation gradually subsided.

'Time for the big announcement . . .' murmured Ron.

'I have the pleasure to announce that in lieu of a final exam, the last week of Professor Lupin's Defence Against the Dark Arts class will feature two open sessions for all summer school students. Students and faculty will engage in duelling--using poetry as their weapon and their defence.'

Low murmuring broke out and swelled to a crescendo. Dumbledore smiled benignly before raising his hand, commanding silence.

'Our literary guests, Doctor Jones and Mr. McCourt, inform me that the Muggle practice of pitting poets against each other to judge their skill is called a "poetry slam."'

Padma smirked, and Dean smiled at her fondly.

'For our own end-of-summer school "slam," duellists will compete for two prizes--the best poetic weapon and the best poetic defence. Mr. McCourt and Doctor Jones will act as judges.'

Padma raised her hand. 'What are the prizes?'

'Ah,' said Dumbledore, 'I don't want to say just yet.'

'Probably some ghastly old books,' muttered Lavender.

Dumbledore added, with a ghost of the old mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes, 'And, since our faculty are also new at poetry, any who choose are eligible to compete as well, on equal ground with students. That should make things even more interesting.'

This time Dumbledore had to wait patiently as lively conversation rippled up and down the tables. Hermione risked a look at Snape. He was leaning back in his chair, long hands steepled together, frowning. _Now_ what's bothering him? she wondered.

'One more detail,' the Headmaster said at length, after relative quiet had resumed. 'Duelling partners will be selected randomly, by lottery.' He held up a battered looking green gym bag. 'I've already placed the names of all DADA students in here. I now invite interested faculty to add your names.'

Lupin rose to his feet, took the small piece of parchment and quill pen Dumbledore offered him, wrote on it, and popped it insouciantly into the gym bag. The Patil twins grinned at each other and applauded softly.

Lavender nudged Beckham and rolled her eyes in a 'Go on, do it' gesture. Smiling sheepishly, the former football star shook his head.

After a moment, McGonagall stood up, looked coolly around the room over the tops of her square glasses, and entered her name.

Dumbledore looked at Snape. So did Hermione.

Shifting in his chair, the Head of Slytherin said, 'Apparently my name has already been entered, Headmaster.' Lupin grinned.

'Any others?' said Dumbledore. No one stirred. 'Then,' he said, 'I'd like to ask Mr. McCourt and Doctor Jones to draw names.'

Jones wrinkled her nose just ever so slightly as she extended a graceful hand into the grubby bag.

About halfway through the drawing of names, McCourt drew Draco's parchment, and Jones drew Hermione's. Unable to resist glancing down at the other end of the table, Hermione saw Draco's mouth twisting in an unpleasant smile. 'You're dead, Mudblood,' he mouthed to her silently.

'Wanker,' she mouthed back, smirking.

Hermione wondered afterward whether some surviving thread of malicious magic wove its way through the room at the moment one of the last pairs of parchments was drawn.

McCourt picked Severus Snape.

And Jones picked Harry Potter.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

--I'm not a chemist (duh!)! So I'm winging this one. I do know that even if 'gas chromatography/mass spectrometry (GC/MS)' is the most powerful analytical technique, there is no way Hogwarts could possibly afford that kind of equipment. I'm not even sure how Snape would get an FID to work without electricity. Oh, well . . . poetic license!

--Neville's poem is 'Fire and Ice' by the American poet Robert Frost (1874 - 1963), with only a few words changed.


	6. Sex Starved Little Swot!

**Title:** Looking for Magic in All the Right Places

**Chapter Six:** Sex-Starved Little Swot!

**Genre:** Humour, Romance, and my response to the WIKTT 'Summer School Challenge.' To see complete rules, go to 'When I Kissed the Teacher' Files Challenge Files, (Closed Challenges).

**Rating:** PG-13

**Warning:** Occasional poetry!

**Disclaimer:** Please see Chapter One. Some chapters have Author's Notes for acknowledgements when needed.

* * *

**Chapter Six:** Sex-Starved Little Swot!

For most Hogwarts seventh-years, summer school couldn't end fast enough. The living conditions had now deteriorated alarmingly. No one minded eating in the kitchen, especially since--thanks to McCourt's efficient management--the food was now consistently decent. But in the final month of term, without reliable staircases, all levels above the first floor were unusable. Dumbledore had been the first to evacuate his tower office, moving into (of all things) the broom closet on the ground floor--an indignity he bore with sublime calm. That same day, female and male students of each house had been assigned to all available classrooms, anterooms, and other chambers located no higher than the first floor. Each night they slept on mattresses, which the house-elves efficiently removed and stacked against the walls each morning.

That made for a bizarre environment in the DADA classroom. 'It's like being trapped in a bunker,' said Harry one day, 'with sandbags all around us.'

'What's a bunker?' asked Ron.

'Erm--a kind of shelter in case there's an emergency.'

'Emergency, huh? I'd say that's about right. How long d'you think before this whole place falls on our heads?'

Harry squinted up at the ceiling, pretending to inspect it thoughtfully. 'Oh I'd say--a week. If we're lucky.'

Ron groaned and buried his face in his hands. 'Gods, get me out of here.'

Some faculty, including Lupin and all Muggle guests, were displaced too; they were moved into the old hospital wing and privacy screens were procured. McGonagall retained her first-floor office but generously offered to share it with Maxine Jones. Snape, however, made it known that he would string up and flay any faculty member or guest foolhardy enough to come anywhere near his private domain. In that same spirit, the Slytherins guarded their dungeon-level common room like Roman soldiers squaring off against barbarian invaders.

By the time the last week of summer school dawned, everyone was in a fine state of tension.

'Bugger off,' Ron growled when Hermione dumped a load of books so close to him that several landed on his legs. Not that she had much room to manoeuvre. What passed for the Gryffindor common room these days was a cramped, little-used, musty-smelling 'overflow' classroom on the ground floor, furnished with several exceptionally seedy armchairs and some old cushions. Since the day Lavender had discovered that silverfish commuted through those cushions, most students now preferred to sit on the floor. It was much cleaner.

'Why don't you take a look at one of these for a change, Ron,' Hermione snapped. 'You might actually learn something.'

'Chemistry texts? Yeah, right. What rubbish.'

'Just because _you're_ thick as two short planks doesn't make it rubbish.'

'Oooh,' crooned Ron, 'I keep forgetting that you're sucking up to Professor Tall, Dark, and Greasy. Has he impaled you yet with his . . .'

The heads of Lavender and Parvati snapped up, and two pairs of eyes fastened avidly on Hermione.

'Say it, Ron. Go ahead. I dare you,' said Hermione, very softly.

'His'--Ron started laughing--'_piercing dark gaze_?'

'Oh will you shut it, you two,' said Harry wearily. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. 'Believe it or not, I'm doing revision here.'

Ron looked shocked. 'You _are_? Why?'

'I dunno. Maybe I'm being an arse, but there's a chemistry test on Wednesday and I thought just maybe I'd try to pass it.'

Hermione folded her arms. 'Well, nice to know _someone's_ thinking ahead.'

'Stop being such a cow, Hermione,' Ron snarled.

'Why don't _you_ stop being such a stupid prat!'

'STOP IT!' Harry surged to his feet. 'You're BOTH losers. Ron, get a brain. Hermione, stop acting like a sex-starved little swot. Bloody hell. Who wants to be in the same room as _you_ lot?' Ignoring the stares of his classmates, Harry barrelled out of the room, slamming the door behind him so hard the walls shuddered.

There was a moment's shocked silence. Ron's eyes were wide. Neville cleared his throat and pushed his face back into his poetry book. Hermione stood rigid, her face deadly pale.

'So,' said Parvati sweetly. 'Hermione. Speaking of sex--tell us more about your pash for Snape.' She and Lavender collapsed into giggles.

Hermione flushed brick-red. Pressing her lips together, she started picking up her books, elaborately ignoring Ron and everyone else in the room.

Ron pulled his long legs away from the pile of texts and stared at the floor.

=============

Though Snape felt a bit foolish knocking on the broom closet door, he much preferred it to an exhausting march up six floors of dysfunctional spiral staircase.

'Cosy, isn't it?' said Dumbledore after Snape had come in and closed the door behind him. The battered old classroom table serving as a desk barely missed touching the walls. A bookshelf and several boxes overflowed with parchments. Snape raised his eyebrows.

'Er--quite. If I may ask, where do you sleep?'

'Oh, the elves put a mattress out on top of the table each night,' said Dumbledore equably. 'I simply have to remember not to roll over.'

Snape was aware of his own stubborn refusal to share his commodious quarters. He shoved that uncomfortable thought aside.

'I'm sorry I can't offer you a seat,' Dumbledore added. 'But on the bright side, meetings conducted whilst both parties are standing can be surprisingly productive.'

'And on that topic, you wanted to see me, Headmaster?'

'Yes, dear boy. Let me get to the point. I know you had expected to serve as a judge, not as a competitor, for the DADA Invocation Slam.'

'I was not pleased when I realised Lupin had entered my name.'

'That was my doing, not Remus's.'

Snape stared at Dumbledore. 'Why?'

'I'm sure you remember our conversation during the first week of summer school. The true purpose of this DADA class is to experiment with the possibility that tapping into the ancient power of naming might reawaken the magic we have now almost entirely lost.'

'I remember every word of that conversation,' said Snape, his voice edged with bitterness. 'But I must say, Headmaster, if I may be blunt, that whilst some of the students show occasional promise in their grasp of poetic technique, I have seen no evidence of any power. None. If invoking magic is the object, then I would say your experiment has failed.'

'Oh come, Severus. As a wizard who now studies science, surely you know it's shoddy practice to draw conclusions before you've gathered all the data.'

Snape opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

'You, Remus, and Minerva were--are--three of our most powerful wizards. Harry Potter and the remnants of the D.A. are our strongest, most talented young practitioners. And Hermione Granger'--Snape started, then cursed himself for that reaction--'is a phenomenon unto herself. Any hope of reversing Voldemort's final curse and reinstating magic in our world lies within this extraordinary group. And that'--said Dumbledore, his voice gentle--'is why I want you to compete, dear boy.'

Snape took a deep breath. 'Very well, Headmaster.'

Really, what was the point in arguing with the old codger?

==============

It was so difficult to find a private space. With only a few short hours to go before the Slam, Hermione wanted to work aloud on her invocations, and the only quiet, empty room she could find was Snape's lab. He'd mentioned he would be spending time in his rooms, so she felt it unlikely he'd object to her using the lab for an hour or so for something not necessarily related to chemistry.

'Let the stormy east wind strain  
Let pale yellow autumn wane  
And rivers in their banks complain--  
Heavily the low skies rain  
O'er the Dark One's grave;  
Down chaos come. . .

'. . . down . . . down . . . _now_ what?' Hells claws! Hermione shook her head.

It was difficult to concentrate, and not because of Harry, who'd gone in one fell swoop from best friend to sworn enemy. She hadn't seen much of him or Ron lately, which was fine with her. She hoped they were spending lots of time out on the football pitch, or field, or whatever, running around till they dropped to the ground and puked their guts out.

No. Far more irritating was the brand new rumour--set loose by the Parvati-and-Lavender brigade and now running demonically around the school--that Hermione Granger, sex-starved little swot, was in love with Severus Snape.

It didn't seem to matter how many times she insisted she was _only_ _working_ with him. Well, yes, she did have the odd fantasy about him. Yes, he seemed to be treating her in public with a little more consideration these days. And yes, it was true she spent hours during evenings and weekends in his lab, continuing to isolate the constituent elements of Veritaserum and putting the rickety flame ionisation detector through its paces.

And yes . . . it was true his image had started to appear in her dreams.

This also was true: she'd rather be cut into bite-sized pieces and fed to Buckbeak before telling a single soul about that.

Had Snape heard this rumour? If he had, at least he had forborne to torture her about it.

She shook her head briskly. Focus. Concentrate. If she ended up against Harry in a semi-final round, she would wipe the mouldering old ceilings of Hogwarts with his arse.

And if she ended up against Snape. . . she'd show _him_ who had the power!

'Let phoenix fly, no longer wait  
To hurl the Dark through hell's last gate.  
Invoke the light; destroy all hate  
O'er the Dark One's grave.'

Hermione never noticed that the door to Snape's rooms was open a crack and that he was watching her with an intensity she would have found unsettling, his eyes narrowed like a soldier's sizing up an enemy.

Then his mouth curved in a smile that would have shocked her to see.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

--Hermione's 'rehearsal' invocation is adapted from Part IV, first stanza, of 'The Lady of Shalott' by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809 - 1892).


	7. Acquainted With the Night

**Title:** Looking for Magic in All the Right Places

**Chapter Seven:** Acquainted With the Night

**Genre:** Humour, Romance, and my response to the WIKTT 'Summer School Challenge.' To see complete rules, go to 'When I Kissed the Teacher' Files Challenge Files, (Closed Challenges).

**Rating:** PG-13

**Warning:** Occasional poetry!

**Disclaimer:** Please see Chapter One. Some chapters have Author's Notes for acknowledgements when needed.

* * *

**Chapter Seven:** **Acquainted With the Night**

'Looks like it might be a good turn-out,' remarked Harry as he, Ron, Dean, and Neville settled themselves in the mattress-enforced DADA classroom.

'Good thing most of us have to be here anyway,' said Dean, and moved over amiably when Padma scooted in beside him. The giggling Parvati-and-Lavender rumour brigade claimed the table behind them. Draco and his contingent slouched into the room, looking impossibly bored, and took up their usual places far from the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw group.

'Where's Hermione?' said Padma. The young men pretended not to hear her.

There was nothing wrong with her twin's ears. 'I'm sure once Professor Snape shows up, Hermione won't be far behind,' Parvati offered.

'Or vice-versa,' added Lavender.

After a few moments Lupin arrived, escorting the evening's two Muggle judges. Maxine Jones, resplendent in a swirling full-length scarlet dress, commanded instant attention--including the jealous glances of several young women heartily sick of their own fusty robes. Sean McCourt drew his own share of surprised stares; he looked uncharacteristically natty in a dark grey jacket and maroon tie. Lupin directed the two judges to a small table on which, instead of parchments and quills, sat two neat stacks of Muggle note cards and several pens and pencils.

Snape's arrival caused at least a dozen heads to turn, including Ron's and Harry's. The former Potions Master paused just inside the classroom doors, sweeping every student in the room with his usual look of thinly veiled disgust. Then he stood aside to let Dumbledore enter the room. The Headmaster, smiling and nodding, looked tired, but his benevolent presence couldn't have contrasted more with Snape's. The two senior faculty members walked down the shallow steps to sit behind McGonagall and Lupin.

'So,' said Neville, leaning back to grin at Parvati and Lavender. 'Does this mean Snape's having an affair with Dumbledore?' Dean and Padma sniggered.

'Ha ha,' was all Lavender could manage.

It was several more minutes before Hermione arrived, alone and barely on time. Without looking left or right or greeting anyone, she sailed past the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw group and seated herself at the only remaining empty table: right behind Dumbledore and Snape. Dumbledore turned to give her a friendly nod. Snape stared straight ahead.

'Harry,' Ron whispered.

'Yeah?'

'Have you thought about apologising to 'Mione about the sex-starved thing?'

'Have _you_ apologised for the cow thing?'

'Well . . . maybe we could apologise at the same time.'

'Maybe.'

Ron sighed.

Lupin now stood, commanding silence, and launched into a brief speech welcoming contestants and guests to the DADA Invocation Slam. 'And just a quick review of the rules,' he continued. 'In the first round, all pairs first named by our Headmaster take turns reciting. Winners compete with winners in the next round, and runners-up compete with runners-up. Whoever loses that second round is out of the contest. On Thursday evening, we'll have semi-final and final rounds, ending with six contestants battling it out for first, second, and third place. Clear? Good.

'Now: about penalties. Going over the judges' time limit will automatically mean you lose that round. Invoking any of the Unforgivable Curses, even if they may no longer be effective, will result in disqualification from the slam and a possible failing mark in DADA. Again, is that clear?' There were nods. 'Excellent. Headmaster, I believe you have something to add?'

Dumbledore rose and turned to face the students. 'Our two distinguished guests'--he nodded at Jones and McCourt--'are the best qualified among us to judge our efforts. However, in the event they cannot agree, I have volunteered to serve as final arbiter.'

'And now,' said Lupin with a grin, 'let the revels begin.'

=============

Hours later, in the middle of the night, Hermione rose from her mattress, wrapped herself in a blanket, and picked her way through soft sounds of breathing to the common-room door. It had taken hours for the other young women to stop chatting excitedly and, one by one, fall asleep. Now Hermione moved out into the corridor, toward her favourite spot to sit during nights she couldn't sleepÑa stone window-seat where she could curl up, contemplate the night sky, and think.

Over and over again, her excellent memory re-played the first rounds of the Slam and her well-honed imagination looped around the question of what would happen on Thursday.

First things first. She had won her first round against Draco . . . but just barely. Told to take the offensive position, she'd fixed the Slytherin ringleader and suspected Voldemort toady with an uncompromising glare and delivered her invocation against the Dark One with a passion that surprised even her. Glancing at Snape, she'd caught respectfully raised eyebrows before the customary sour frown closed his face again.

But Draco, unfazed, had delivered a defence so subtle in its innuendo about her and Snape, yet so well-disciplined by Slam rules, that her first thought was_--the bugger had help!_

'Darkness undoes Woman; therein she'll find  
Perilous spells that soon unseat her mind.  
Her basest, hot desires rise to spoil  
A wizard's subtle potion. She will roil,  
Consuming purest Magick with a tongue  
That licked the bloody Mark by Darkness stung.'

And that was just the first stanza.

It was hideously well crafted, Hermione admitted, fighting back tears of humiliation. By the end of Draco's poem, Snape's face had frozen into the profound stillness she recognised as a sign of pure fury. Even Parvati and Lavender were pale and wide-eyed.

What made the whole thing even more ghastly was the fact that afterwards, Jones and McCourt had argued furiously under their breaths and had emerged unable to determine a winner. Dumbledore had awarded the round to Hermione on the thin basis that her effort had been more invocational in structure.

However, Draco's insult had at least put Harry's thoughtless 'sex-starved little swot' comment back into perspective for Hermione. At that point, she would have been happy to run into Harry's arms and hug him in front of everybody. Instead, she settled back behind her table and tried to calm herself enough to listen to the other competitors.

McGonagall was pitted, if that was the right word, against Neville--and much to Neville's stunned surprise, the judges had awarded the round to him. Hermione, grinning, clapped as hard as anyone as the former Transformations professor nodded to her young rival and shook his hand. As expected, Parvati and Lavender joined the ranks of runners-up, whilst Padma--her brain honed by months of exposure to her boyfriend's poetic angst--took down Dean. Ron, up against Lupin, explained to the puzzled judges that his poem--'O I have slipped the surly bonds of earth/and dodged through bludgers seeking golden wings . . .'-- was meant to invoke the magic of a great Quidditch match. He good-naturedly accepted a hands-down verdict declaring as the winner Lupin's powerfully delivered 'The Thought- Wolf.'

Finally, Snape and Harry rose to their feet and moved down to the centre of the room, not looking at each other.

'Professor Snape, you've drawn the offensive position. Any time you're ready,' said McCourt.

The room fell quiet as all eyes focused on Snape. It seemed to Hermione that he took his time, letting the silence clothe him with power. When he began to speak, his voice, though barely above a whisper, carried throughout the entire room:

'I have been one acquainted with the night.  
I have been Marked with pain--and cursed by fate.  
I have outwalked the furthest spark of light.

I have walked through blackest realms of hate.  
I have withstood the Dark One's breath of fire  
And guarded with my life the wizards' gate.

I have stood still, not breathing, as the dire  
Sounds of choking, interrupted cries  
Ripped my soul's tight-warded walls entire.

And you presume to know where evil lies?  
Such arrogance, to think you've reached the height  
Of power--that realm confounds the wise.  
For you the time won't come; you have no right.  
You've not been one acquainted with the night.'

Though Snape's voice was still quiet when he finished, the room rang as if he were shouting. No one moved or breathed until Jones broke the silence, her rich voice subdued.

'Harry. Your defence.'

Harry had turned deathly pale during Snape's invocation, but he turned without hesitation to face the professor whom he believed had faithfully loathed him for seven years.

'When I consider how my light shines dim  
My years in this dark world and wide yet few,  
And my one talent, wielding death for you,  
Lodged with me useless--I know my heart grows grim.  
To serve the Light seems vain, a foolish whim.  
Chaos wins, the Dark debt will accrue,  
And every breath I take is payment due.'

At the moment the last cadences of Harry's steady voice faded, Hermione felt power crawling over her skin even as tears streaked her face. Snape, his face white and his eyes burning, took his wand out and pointed it at a blank note card that had drifted to the floor. His robes shifted as if a wind were stirring.

'Wingardium Leviosa.'

The note card stirred, fluttered . . . and lifted slowly off the floor. Jones and McCourt drew back, their eyes wide. The note card rose until it reached the height of the judges' table.

Suddenly the crackling sense of power vanished. The note card fell to the floor.

Silence. Then--

'Did you see _that_?'

'Did that really _happen_?'

'Is magic coming back?'

Elation rolled into the room like thunder. Through the din of hysterical laughter and voices crying out in surprise, through the scrum of bodies crowding around Snape and Harry, Hermione--alone at her table, wiping tears of shock and delight from her cheeks--saw Dumbledore conferring with Jones and McCourt.

'All three judges have reached a unanimous decision,' Dumbledore called out as soon as he felt reasonably sure his voice would carry through the din. 'Both Severus Snape and Harry Potter shall go forward into the semi-final rounds on Thursday evening.'

Now, alone on the cold window-seat, watching the stars wheel above her in the night, Hermione found herself believing--for the first time since Voldemort's death--that magic could return to Hogwarts.

A cold breath of air sent shivers down her back and she heard a faint sound behind her. Slowly, Hermione turned her head.

Staring at her, wrapped in darkness, was Severus Snape.

=============

**Author's Notes:**

--Draco's 'Darkness undoes Woman' is loosely adapted from a much more disturbing poem, 'Nature's Cook,' by Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle (1624? - 1674).

--The quote from Ron's Quidditch poem borrows from the first two lines of 'High Flight' by Royal Canadian Air Force pilot John Gillespie Magee (1922 - 1941).

--The title of Lupin's poem pays homage to 'The Thought-Fox' by the British poet Ted Hughes (1930 - 1998).

--Snape's invocation closely follows the footsteps of Robert Frost's 'Acquainted with the Night.' Also see notes for Chapter Five.

--Harry's defence takes its inspiration from 'When I Consider How My Light Is Spent' by John Milton (1608 - 1674).


	8. What IS the Right Emotion?

**Title:** Looking for Magic in All the Right Places

**Chapter Eight:** What _Is_ the Right Emotion?****

**Genre:** Humour, Romance, and my response to the WIKTT 'Summer School Challenge.' To see complete rules, go to 'When I Kissed the Teacher' Files Challenge Files, (Closed Challenges).

**Rating:** PG-13

**Warning:** Occasional poetry!

**Disclaimer:** Please see Chapter One. Some chapters have Author's Notes for acknowledgements when needed.

* * *

**Chapter Eight:** What _Is_ the Right Emotion?

Once upon a time, if catching Hermione or any of her classmates outside their dorms in the deep of night, Snape would have vanished house-points into oblivion, conjured more detentions than bats on a fruit tree, then sent his demoralised victims slinking back to their beds.

That was then. This was now.

Snape stood still, saying nothing. Hermione regarded him for a long moment before tilting her head back toward the still, remote stars.

'You _are_ one acquainted with the night,' she said quietly.

He gave a soft, surprised laugh. Moving closer, he seated himself on the window-seat opposite her. In the dim light he looked younger, though very tired.

'I heard you practicing your invocation this afternoon, Miss Granger.'

Hermione started. 'Oh! Er--I hope I didn't disturb you.'

'Your invocation had power. By contrast, Malfoy's effort was a vile insult. If it helps to know this, however, he stole most of his poem from a Muggle writer. I recognised the original work. It just so happens I own a copy of that collection. Malfoy's punishment is yet to be determined.'

Hermione stared, her mouth open, then threw back her head and laughed. As if not quite sure what to do in the presence of a young woman so wantonly displaying joy, Snape contemplated his clasped hands, waiting until she quietened.

'Sorry. It's been a long time since something's made me laugh.'

'I quite understand. I feel the same way.'

'Professor Snape, what do you think really happened tonight?'

Snape took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before looking at her with--could that possibly be a hint of mischief? 'I believe,' and his mouth twitched in a smile, 'that a common "Wingardium Leviosa" spell levitated a piece of paper.'

'That was the outward sign of magic. But what caused it to manifest?'

'What do _you_ think?' Ah. The classic professor-question.

'I think that the invocations you and Harry created somehow--well, it was like a fusion of emotions. Both of you together did something.' Excited, forgetting herself, Hermione placed both hands on the cold stone and leaned toward Snape. 'You created . . . a_ chemical reaction_!

'Are you saying neither of us alone could have conjured even that feeble bit of magic?'

'Yes, of course that's what I'm saying. Look at Veritaserum. The base ingredients alone do nothing--but mix them together in a certain way, bind them with the right spells, and suddenly . . .'

'Power,' said Snape, and the way he shaped that word made her catch her breath. 'But to strengthen it, sustain it, we need the right combination. The right interaction.'

'Or--the right fusion of emotions. Of words and feelings.'

'Exactly.'

'But you and Harry--'

'I hoped to goad him.' Snape pushed straggling black hair back from his face and sighed. 'I thought anger might be catalytic. It was a calculated move.'

'Maybe anger isn't the right emotion,' Hermione said without thinking.

Snape stared at her so intently that she drew back and tightened the blanket around her.

'If that's the case,' he said, 'What _is_ the right emotion?'

Silence fell. Anyone observing the two still figures at the window might have thought they'd been carved into the stone itself.

'I think,' Snape said at length, 'that you should go back to your dorm, or whatever passes for your dorm these days, and I should go back to my rooms. After all--you do have a chemistry exam tomorrow.'

'Right.' Snape rose whilst Hermione, still wrapped in the blanket, struggled a bit. He held his hand out to her. Wonderingly, she took it, and he helped her to her feet.

'Miss Granger.'

'Yes?'

'If you and I should end up as contestants on Thursday, be warned: don't expect me to hold back simply because you're a student.'

Hermione smiled. 'I'd be disappointed if you did.'

She vanished down the corridor, leaving him alone in the night, staring after her.

=============

After a test, Hermione always remembered every single question, and usually drove Harry and Ron to distraction by reviewing each question in agonising detail, over and over, until she came up with the perfect answers. Then she'd curse herself for not coming up with those answers.

But the part Harry and Ron _really_ hated was when she got her results. Almost always, her answers were . . . perfect.

After Wednesday's long-drawn-out chemistry test and lab exam, during which Snape, strangely enough, produced not one single sarcastic remark, Hermione's silence puzzled Ron. He and Harry had come up to her earlier in the day and apologised for their stupid behaviour in the common room, and she'd apologised back and hugged them, and they'd both turned a little pink but hugged her back. So it couldn't be that.

Even later, over a decent dinner of bangers and mash with fried onion, gravy, and peas, their efforts to draw Hermione out got them nothing much more than enigmatic smiles and assurances that she was 'fine, just thinking about the Slam.' Harry was prepared to go along with that, being a bit preoccupied himself with what had happened the previous evening. His mind circled in confusion. He wasn't sure if he hated the man who had pushed Harry toward admitting how bitterly he missed his power . . . or if he admired how Snape had so uncompromisingly exposed his own soul. Or both.

The last thing Harry expected was that this man would lean toward him when they were halfway through their pudding and ask to speak with him after dinner. 'If you could meet me in the po--that is, the chemistry classroom, I would appreciate it, Mr. Potter,' said Snape before rising from the table.

'What d'you think _that's_ all about?' said Ron, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline.

'Dunno. But if he thinks he can get away with some kind of attack on me, he's got a nasty surprise coming.'

'Don't jump to conclusions,' said Hermione quietly, 'Find out what he has to say.'

'Look, 'Mione, I know you mean well, but I'm getting tired of hearing you defend Snape all the time.'

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to her pudding.

=============

Instead of making Harry stand in the 'I've been a bad boy' subordinate position before a massive desk, Snape asked him to sit on a bench, and then pulled up another and sat down, so they were eye to eye. Instead of attacking Harry with Legilimens, or making him clean cauldrons--no, test-tubes--or even shooting barbs of sarcasm for the sheer pleasure of it, Snape laced his fingers together and looked down at them for a long moment.

This unexpected behaviour discomfited Harry. He cleared his throat.

'You . . . wanted to speak with me?'

Snape looked up. 'Yes, Mr. Potter. Er--Harry, if I may.'

_Harry?_

'I'd like to ask you a question. I hope you'll agree to answer it, but if you don't, I'll understand.'

Merlin's teeth . . . what was going on?

'Go ahead,' said Harry cautiously, his eyes not leaving Snape's.

'Yes. Well--'

Was Snape _nervous_? Was that even possible?

'What do you think happened after our--duel last night?'

Harry stared. 'You mean--when you levitated a piece of paper a few feet?'

Snape shook his head. 'I think _we_ levitated it.'

'How? You were the one with the wand. You said the spell.'

'Harry, what were you feeling just before that happened?'

'Do you want me to be honest?'

'Please.'

Harry took a deep breath. 'I hated everything you said. About my arrogance, how you implied I had to have a career as an ex-Death Eater before I could ever truly understand power. I thought you wanted to bring me down. I wanted to hit you back.'

One small part of Harry that was still a first-year Gryffindor cringed, waiting for Snape to rise up and strike him with a week's detention.

But Snape said calmly, 'So--at the moment before we felt power in the room, you and I were standing there hating each other. I think, and so does Miss Granger, that our invocation and our emotions acted as a channel for power--just as our wands and spells used to.'

'You've talked to Hermione about this?'

Snape's thin mouth softened. Harry wasn't sure he was aware of it. 'Yes. She thinks we created--well, the exact phrase she used was _a chemical reaction_.'

'Oh.'

Both were silent for a minute, digesting the conversation so far.

'So,' said Harry, 'With all those strong feelings, why were you--er, we--only able to raise one piece of paper a few feet?'

Snape sighed. 'I'm not sure. Maybe we tapped into the only remaining bit of magic left in our world.'

'I don't like that theory very much.'

'Neither do I. But Miss Granger suggested that perhaps hate or anger is the wrong catalyst.'

'You mean she thinks other types of feelings might . . .'

'Produce more effective results? Who knows?'

Another silence.

'Was there anything else you wanted to ask me?' said Harry.

'No thank you. But you've been most helpful.' Harry stood and turned to leave. Snape's voice stopped him.

'Standing up against an ex-Death Eater, even a toothless one, and giving back measure for measure was an extraordinarily bloody-minded thing to do.'

Harry, looking levelly at the older man, decided he was being challenged.

'Even more bloody-minded than blasting Voldemort?'

'Oh, much more,' said Snape blandly.

Harry smiled and walked to the classroom doors. Then, hesitating, he turned back to the man who'd goaded, pushed, and tormented him for almost half his life.

'I don't know if this helps much, but when I needed the power to kill Voldemort, some of that came from--the power my mother gave me when she died to save my life. That power was inside me all the time. All I had to do was--tap into it.'

'Unless you're planning to blast me with maternal affection at our next duel, then I'm not quite sure what to do with that thought. But it _is_ interesting.'

'Whatever,' mumbled Harry, not sure whether to be amused or embarrassed, and escaped before Snape could think of anything else to ask him.

=============

On Thursday night every seat in the DADA classroom was filled, and more than a dozen students, finding standing room only, leaned against stacked mattresses. The low conversation had an almost strident edge, shot through with staccato laughter. Without Draco, conspicuous by his absence, even the Slytherin group had trouble maintaining their usual attitudes of being far too wonderful for such grubby goings-on.

'Look,' said Neville to Seamus and Dean. He pulled his wand partway from the sleeve of his robe. 'I thought I'd bring it--just in case.'

'Brill,' said Seamus. 'Brought mine too.'

'Yeah, me too,' said Dean. 'You never know, right?'

Padma looked around the room with a smile. 'Whatever happens, this is amazing. Everyone seems alive for the first time since we started to lose our magic.'

'The poetry's naff,' said Parvati, 'But I really want to see Hermione and The Greasy Git duelling. Can't buy that kind of entertainment value.'

'Whose side are you on, then?' said Terry Boot, who didn't look at all unhappy scrunched up against her.

Parvati and Lavender looked at each other. 'Don't care, really,' said Lavender, grinning.

'Heard the latest about Draco?' said Padma.

'You mean, he nicked his poem? Yeah,' said Lavender, sounding bored. 'Got it out of some Muggle book.'

'Whoa,' said Ron. 'How'd Draco get hold of a Muggle book?'

'Bet his dad had it smuggled in,' said Neville.

'Didn't know Draco could read,' Dean sniggered.

'Is he going to be expelled?' said Seamus eagerly.

'Doubt it,' said Harry. 'His old man's too powerful. He'll probably just be held back.'

'Draco as a sixth-year. Sweet,' said Ron, grinning hugely.

Harry frowned. 'He'll give Ginny aggro for sure.'

Ron shook his head, still grinning. 'Ginny'll put him in his place in two seconds flat.'

Dumbledore rose and faced the audience, holding up both hands for silence. Everyone quickly complied.

'Tonight, it's my privilege to welcome you all to the DADA Invocation Slam final rounds. I believe--' he smiled gently '--you all know the rules very well by now. From twenty-eight original contestants, we are now down to eight semi-finalists, including the two who tied on Tuesday evening. Once again, if our two judges cannot agree, I shall cast the deciding vote.

'But--' his smile broadened, '--to judge the finalists, I will stand aside. Doctor Jones and Mr. McCourt tell me that in Muggle poetry slams, the winners are often determined by votes from the audience. So all of you will help determine our winners when that time comes.'

Excitement buzzed softly for a moment. Then Maxine Jones, wearing a flowing lemon-yellow pantsuit, rose from the judges' table and strode to the front of the room.

'I've been asked to set the tone for this evening,' she said in her rich voice. 'As I see it, your goal is to tap into the most ancient magic of all--the power to shape the world around you. Now to find that power, you must open yourself to all dimensions of human existence. All possibilities. All feelings. But _you must desire above everything to open yourself._ Or else,' she smiled almost mischievously, 'pretty words will be the only thing you'll produce tonight.'

Harry couldn't help glancing at Hermione and Snape, each sitting where they'd been on Tuesday night. Hermione, hands clasped on the table, sat straight and tense, her wild hair neatly pulled back and held in place with a clip. In front of her, Snape raised his chin and looked Jones full in the face.

It seemed to Harry that the dark, powerful woman smiled at them both before she raised her voice and filled the room with poetry:

'The hidden soul is raised from its cave,  
The old marks of your demon's claws  
are healed by new words,  
Your dark of heart is filled with heart's new love.

By these words, enlightened,  
By joy, unchained,  
By magic, reclaimed,  
By one kiss, set free.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

--Using the HP Lexicon, I counted about twenty-eight to thirty students in the Rowling canon who arrived in Hogwarts the same year as Harry. Just in case anyone's picking nits!

--'The hidden soul . . .' is Part Two of Maxine Jones' 'Spell to Open a Closed Heart,' adapted from Jeni Couzyn's 'Spell to Soften the Hard Heart of a Woman.' Also see notes for Chapter Three.


	9. The Art of Winning

**Title:** Looking for Magic in All the Right Places

**Chapter Nine:** The Art of Winning****

**Genre:** Romance, Humour, and my response to the WIKTT 'Summer School Challenge.'

**Rating:** PG-13

**Warning:** Occasional poetry!

**Disclaimer:** Please see Chapter One.

**Acknowledgements:** See Author's Notes for sources and thanks to reviewers.

* * *

**Chapter Nine:** The Art of Winning

At Dumbledore's request, the eight Slam contestants came down to the front of the classroom and sat on chairs facing the audience. McCourt, producing his hideous green gym bag, drew the first pair of names for the semi-final round.

'Susan Bones against . . . Neville Longbottom.'

By the time clever, quiet Susan had finished reciting her wickedly funny stylings about a dancing skeleton, chuckles were running around the room and poor Neville was checking himself for runaway ribs and femurs. Even Jones and McCourt were grinning. Showing remarkable aplomb under the circumstances, Neville produced a neatly self-deprecating defence: 'the art of losing isn't hard to master/it seems so many things I grasp intend/ to be lost that their loss is no disaster.' That produced much good-natured laughter and scattered applause.

However, the judges concluded that whilst Neville had perhaps won more hearts, Susan's intricate wit had captured the majority of minds.

'Padma Patil against . . . Severus Snape.'

'Ohhh nooo!' groaned Parvati. The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws applauded as Padma, clearly terrified, moved to the centre of the room. The Slytherins all looked enormously self-satisfied.

Padma couldn't even look at Snape. When she finally began to recite, her voice was so soft that not even people in the front rows could hear her very well. But as she moved further into her piece about the sorrows of losing the ability to transform, her voice grew a little stronger.

'I was witch and I could be  
Bird or leaf  
Or branch and bark of tree.

In rain and two by two my powers left me;  
Instead of curling down as root and worm  
My feet walked on the surface of the earth,  
And I remember a day of evil sun  
When forty green leaves withered on my arm.'

Before Padma had finished, McGonagall had pulled out a handkerchief and was quickly, almost angrily dabbing at her eyes. Beside her, Dumbledore put a gentle hand on her shoulder. A sigh went around the room. Parvati, though, was grinning from ear to ear.

'That was _wicked_!' she whispered. 'Look, she made McGonagall cry!'

Snape acknowledged Padma with a slight, admiring bow that showed no trace of mockery. Then he faced the audience.

'Times were pleasant for our mages here  
until one dark day a demon out of hell  
began to work his evil in our world.'

Snape's voice became harsh, almost keening--a blood-curdling chant that made jaws drop and eyes widen. Even the unflappable Lupin looked startled.

'The Dark One, He Whom We Would Not Name,  
haunted our proud keep, marauding around our lands  
and the Forbidden woods; he had dwelt for a time  
in misery, a thin spirit banished among monsters,  
of Nagini's clan, whom the wise had outlawed  
and condemned as outcasts. When the wise  
finally understood their peril, recruiting old and young  
to join the struggle, they courted mortal danger:  
for no spells on earth, no conjurer's art  
could ever damage their demon enemy.'

But Snape's tone modified to a plaintive lament as he went on to describe what the brave mages, young and old, had given up in finally defeating the Dark One. By the time Snape had finished, more eyes than McGonagall's were damp.

'Harry, I think he was describing you--praising you like a hero of old,' Hermione whispered into her friend's ear.

'He meant all of us,' said Harry, turning red. But he couldn't help wondering whether, in an oblique way, Snape had just made a peace offering.

When the judges announced Snape as the winner, Padma sank back into her chair with obvious relief. She smiled weakly across the room at her twin and Lavender, who each gave her a thumbs-up and a big, reassuring grin.

'Ernie Macmillan against Remus Lupin,' announced McCourt.

As the full meaning of that pairing sank in, Hermione and Harry looked at each other in amused horror.

'Be gentle with me, Miss Granger,' murmured Harry. Hermione snorted.

Ernie had performed surprisingly well on Tuesday night and might have won this round if he'd been pitted against someone like Neville. Lupin didn't have to try very hard to weave word-circles around the Hufflepuff's well-meaning, proletarian effort. Ernie got a round of consolation applause.

'This leaves Harry Potter against Hermione Granger to end our semi-final round,' said McCourt. A pleasant buzz of excitement ran through the room.

'Bloody hell,' Ron groaned. 'I want _both_ of them to win.'

'Could happen, if the judges allow a tie like they did the other night,' said Dean.

'Bet they won't,' said Ron gloomily.

'Mr. Potter, please begin when you're ready,' said Jones.

Harry looked at Hermione, his mouth quirking in a peculiar little half-smile. When he began reciting, his tone was almost affectionate.

'You once flew out, a furious witch,  
haunting the night air, fiercer than light.'

Then Harry's tone darkened:

'Dreaming glory, you have done your hitch  
over the dark fields. Will you take flight  
with words? Book-bound, sad of mind:  
a woman chained by facts will not raise magic, quite.  
You seek. You shall not find.'

As Harry finished, Hermione flushed and looked down, biting her lip. When she raised her head to meet Harry's challenge, her tone was as merciless as that of a judge sentencing the lowliest criminal:

'I saw you grasp the hidden heart of earth  
And burn your rage to dust within its fire,  
I saw you face the Dark One's hungry maw  
And summon strength to blast his fell desire;  
You healed the rose devoured by the worm  
And stood in solemn guard beside the pyre.  
And now you wait, as if the world entire  
Spins solely on your agony. No spell,  
No hexes you once bandied with, no curse  
Will un-make guilt. Now only you can tell  
When anger ends and power moves your heart--  
But don't pretend, each day, that all is well.

Your final battle looms--to end this hell.  
By seeking magic, honour those who fell.'

As Hermione stopped speaking, a shiver filled the air. The classroom doors banged open, making several girls scream, and a wind whirled through the room, lifting some of the judges' note cards and scattering them like leaves. Snape and Lupin shot to their feet. Dumbledore, standing more slowly, reached for his wand.

But it was Harry who pulled his wand from his sleeve first and pointed it at the judges' table. 'Accio pens!' he shouted. In less than a second Snape, Lupin, and Hermione had their wands out too, shouting 'Accio pens!' more or less in unison.

Four pens, two blue and two red, quivered and clattered against the battered wooden surface. McCourt pushed his chair back, more out of respect than fear, and Jones stood, moving hastily away, though her face remained calm and curious.

Then four pens rose from the table and shot toward the four wands. Without thinking, Hermione opened her left hand and a red pen flew into it. The other three pens bounced off the foreheads of the other three wand-wielders, who had forgotten to hold out their hands.

The whirling wind died down. The air stopped shivering. Three pens fell to the floor.

Harry pointed his wand down at his feet. 'Accio pen,' he said softly. It didn't move. But by then the room had dissolved into chaos. As students seethed out of their seats, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Lupin converged on the Muggle judges.

Under cover of the noise, Snape came up to Hermione and Harry and, with a look, separated them from the crowd.

'What were you feeling when you raised that magic?' Snape said urgently.

'I was trying to warn 'Mione not to forget what it was like to have power. I felt worried that she'd given up hope.'

'_I_ was angry at _Harry_ for giving up hope, but I also felt very sad about what he's lost, and--erm--I was also trying to tell him I love him,' said Hermione, turning a bit pink.

'Yeah, ditto,' said Harry, turning pinker. Suddenly a phalanx of classmates descended on The Boy Who Recited and swept him away, leaving Snape and Hermione by themselves, staring at each other.

'Love?' said Snape.

'Is that--the right emotion?' said Hermione.

'If it was, why--again--weren't we able to _sustain_ the power?'

'We might be on the right track, but we're still missing something.'

'I wonder if Potter handed me a clue last night. He told me he was able to withstand Voldemort by invoking the power of his mother's love for him.'

'Perhaps that means the right emotion has to be--very intense. Very sustained,' said Hermione slowly.

'Is that how you feel about Harry?'

As Hermione, startled, opened her mouth to tell him that was a bit personal, all the fantasies teasing her throughout the summer term, all her dreams about what it would feel like to be seduced by Severus Snape's low voice and kissed by that thin, ironic mouth, rose into her mind and flooded her heart. For a moment, she couldn't speak.

'Harry's the brother I never had,' she finally managed. 'And so's Ron.'

For just a moment, Snape's gaze dropped and his tense shoulders relaxed. Then his gaze burned her again, invoking an answering heat she couldn't name and yet understood as instinctively as breathing.

'Miss Granger, I'm determined to raise magic tonight and to make damned sure we sustain it. When you and I compete, I will hold nothing back. Nothing. In turn, you must hold _nothing_ back from me. Do you understand?'

Speechless, all she could do was nod.

A few minutes later, Jones stood on a table. Bellowing over the crowd, she announced that for the second time in the DADA Invocation Slam, a set of double winners would move forward into the next round.

'Ha! What'd I tell you?' said Dean, poking Ron in the ribs.

===============

After Dumbledore, Lupin, and the other senior faculty members had herded the crowd back into their seats in preparation for the final round, the Headmaster, sounding as pleasant as if he were presiding over a holiday feast, reminded the audience that their votes would now help determine the finalists. When McCourt, Jones, and Lupin passed note cards and pens around the room, some students handled these materials gingerly, as if expecting them to fly across the room again.

Hermione barely registered these preparations. Her mind roiled. Yes--something seemed to be happening between her and Snape. 'Hold nothing back. Nothing.' Just remembering how he looked and sounded when he said that made her heart pound.

But wait a minute. Surely that didn't mean--was he expecting her to declare _love_ for him? And was he thinking of declaring love for her? Circe's silk knickers! Even if she _did_ love him (which she didn't, she was just, interested in him--well, quite attracted actually), there was no way she was going to stand up there _in front of everybody_ and say that.

He couldn't possibly love her. Hermione wasn't stupid. Of course he'd been on the receiving end of schoolgirl crushes before. Maybe not many. But probably at least one or two. She was just the latest, and the timing couldn't be more convenient for him.

Premise: Snape sensed her attraction to him. Premise: attraction was a handy emotional catalyst. Conclusion: Snape was using her.

Snape: the universe's greasiest bastard. Granger: the universe's biggest idiot.

At that moment, when she felt she might dissolve into tears, an idea for a new invocation settled full-grown into her mind. An invocation, like a perfect curse, designed for one sublime purpose: to bring Snape down.

'Hold nothing back,' Hermione said under her breath, and smiled.

============

To be continued in Chapter Ten . . . a battle of words, wits, and hearts!

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

--Neville's 'The art of losing' adapts a few lines from 'One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop (American, 1911-1979).

--Padma's transformation poem renders word-for-word part of Stanza III from 'Nature be damned' by Canadian poet Anne Wilkinson (1910-1961).

--Snape's 'Lament' is inspired by the Irish poet Seamus Heaney's recent translation (2000) of _Beowulf_.

--Hermione's 'I saw you grasp' is based on a sonnet within a series of short poems I composed called 'After the Battle: the Five Stages of Severus' (posted in Lord and Lady Snape under the category 'Poetry').

--Harry's response to Hermione, 'You once flew out,' takes some wording and much of the structure and rhyme scheme from 'Her Kind' by the American poet Anne Sexton (1928-1974).

Thank you to wacoramaco87, Michaela, Chillout, Falafelgigglehiney, Sunandshadow, EvilExpressions, and Magictwinkle for reviewing and commenting!


	10. Hold Nothing Back, Miss Granger

**Title:** 'Looking for Magic in All the Right Places'

**Genre:** Challenge. Response to the WIKTT 'Summer School Challenge'

**Rating:** PG-13

**Warning:** Occasional poetry!

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One.

**Special thanks:** Do please see the Author's Notes!

* * *

**Chapter Ten:** Hold Nothing Back, Miss Granger

The aim was elimination. Only two finalists would stand.

As the judges called Lupin and Harry forward to compete, Hermione knew without even looking that Snape was shooting dark glances at her. Pretending a vast and sophisticated indifference, she leaned back in her chair and fixed her attention on the invocations. She'd assumed that Lupin, with his tortured past and his still-fresh memories of running four-legged through wild moonlit nights, would be more imaginative than Harry, who seemed better suited as a warrior than a poet. Indeed, of their two poems, she preferred Lupin's ironic depiction of a fierce, proud captive animal reflecting on the strange creatures trapped _outside_ his cage. However, Harry's fiery heroic couplets re-living the incandescent experience of fighting enemies on dragon-back took enough of the popular vote to award the round to him.

It was hard to tell who was happier: Harry the winner or Lupin the proud teacher. Hermione gave Harry's arm a little squeeze when he sat back down, and he grinned at her. At least their friendship was rock-solid again.

In the next elimination, Susan Bones stood up better against Snape than poor old Ernie. Even though Susan couldn't sustain the brilliance of her semi-final performance, the popular vote skewed heavily toward her. This result puzzled the judges; as far as they were concerned, Snape had clearly won. Snape scowled as the judges conferred, then smirked when McCourt stood up to announce that the judges respectfully had to over-rule the popular vote for the student in favour of the professor's more powerful and cleverly structured invocation.

'Well, we tried,' Terry sighed, as Susan made her way gratefully back to the Hufflepuff crowd. They welcomed her with applause.

'You voted for _Susan_? Cripes, why ever for? We want to see Hermione go up against Snape, remember?' hissed Parvati.

'So to speak,' Lavender leered.

'Stuff a sock in it,' said Ron. 'Look, it's _their_ turn now.'

No friendly buzz greeted these two competitors. As soon as Hermione and Snape rose to their feet and moved to the centre, silence reigned. Hermione felt pinned by those avid gazes like a butterfly to a wall.

'You may take the offensive, Miss Granger,' said McCourt. His light, melodious voice calmed her. Gathering strength, she straightened and looked her adversary in the eye. Though Snape's expression gave nothing away, Hermione could almost see tension radiating from him, like waves of spectral light.

The time to put Severus Snape in his place was at hand. When Hermione opened her mouth, the words of her perfect invocation made the farthest corners of the room echo.

'You are the hollow man.  
You are the uncrying man.  
You are a shape filled with darkness.'

Her voice rolled over Snape like smoke. The room seemed to dim.

'Your cold hand crushes dried roots.  
Your dried voice whispers cold spells.  
You are quiet and chill  
As wind in dead grass  
Or rats' feet over spilt potions.  
You raise the dungeon stones,  
And seal heart and soul within  
A cage of bones.'

A vast wall of grey air swirled between Hermione's extended hand and Snape; from this inchoate mass she could hear faint shrieks as if people were being tortured. She could see Snape only dimly, as though the room were filled with fog. He fell to his knees, his back bowed as if something huge and heavy were pressing down on him.

How good it felt to cage him. To crush him.

Arms pinned her from behind and pulled her hand down. Hermione struggled, crying out.

'Hermione, no, _no_! Break your focus. Don't look at Snape! Don't look at him!' Hands clamped over her eyes. Immediately her urge to crush Snape vanished, and all she could feel was a stunned, abject horror. She slumped, eyes squeezed shut. The arms supported her to a chair.

When Hermione dared to open her eyes again, Lupin was crouched in front of her, and Harry sat beside her, one hand on her shoulder, his brilliant green eyes wide with concern.

'Hermione, are you all right?' Harry said as soon as she met his gaze.

She took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. 'I think so.' She turned to Lupin. 'Professor . . . what happened? Did I--oh gods--did I hurt Professor Snape?'

Lupin gave her a crooked grin. 'I broke your concentration on time. He felt some discomfort, but otherwise Professor Snape is fine.'

As if to confirm this, Snape moved into her field of view. For a moment, Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the front of his robe, with all those tiny buttons. She considered counting every single one of those tiny buttons--anything to avoid meeting his eyes.

Summoning that much-vaunted Gryffindor bravery, Hermione raised her chin. Snape met her apologetic look with the raised eyebrows and long, slow nod of a seasoned knight realising he had been bested and was sporting enough to concede the joust. She swallowed. She didn't deserve such graciousness.

'I'm so sorry, Professor.'

'For what?' said Snape briskly. 'For doing what you're supposed to do in this competition?' His mouth twitched, and Hermione realised she was witnessing a smile. 'I'd say you held nothing back.'

'What exactly did I _do_ to you?'

'You--raised an aggressive emotional force. It had the unpleasant effect of making me re-live some of the less noble moments of my Death Eater days.'

Hermione buried her face in her hands. 'Oh gods. I didn't mean . . .'

'Oh come, Miss Granger. You performed admirably, so please stop having the vapours. Perhaps later you will do me the courtesy of explaining what motivated you to concoct such an--interesting--theme. But for now, it's time to finish this round. Unless, of course, you wish to admit defeat.'

'I really don't think,' said Hermione, mustering her dignity, 'that declaring defeat is an option.' At his look of quickly veiled admiration, she felt that restless heat again, that . . . whatever it was he did to stop her breath and churn up her thought processes. Annoyed at herself, she got up, shaking her head at Harry when he tried to support her.

As she followed Snape back to the centre of the classroom, she noticed Jones and McCourt regarding her with great interest and more than a bit of respect. She looked out at the audience for the first time since she'd invoked the grey cloud. The students were clearly gob-smacked. She felt an odd twist of satisfaction.

But Dumbledore, that wise old bird of prey, looked at her with a small smile and not a trace of astonishment.

'Your response, Professor Snape,' McCourt said, his voice betraying a hint of trepidation.

It took all of Hermione's willpower not to cringe in anticipation of whatever the former Death Eater might blast in her direction. But the situation called for nothing less than sang-froid of Snapeian proportions. Without expression, she faced her adversary.

Snape looked back at her with that strange hint of a smile. 'Mine,' he whispered, his eyes never leaving Hermione's face.

Hushed murmurs and one stifled giggle rippled through the audience. Snape threw a black look in the direction of the giggler, invoking deep silence. Then once again he held Hermione in his gaze. His voice reached out and caressed her.

'Mine, says the cat, putting out his paw  
of darkness;  
My friend, my lover, my slave, my toy.  
Let us walk in the night.  
I'll teach you to read the grimoire of the hunt--  
To fade into shadow, wait like a trap, to pounce,  
To devour.'

His words curled slowly around her. She found it hard to breathe.  
  
'My emotions are pure as crystals and as hard.  
My lusts glow like my eyes;  
I speak greed with my claws and fear with my teeth.  
Desire lashes my tail.  
Come. I will teach you to hunt  
As naturally as wandering the deep reaches of night.'

Black eyes, edged with fire, promised things unspeakable. But as heat twisted within her, the poem's relentless, hungry cadence gentled into longing.

'And you will teach me the poetry of touch  
Then learn to shape my name.  
And learn to speak  
A word--  
One word  
The only word  
Taming me entire.'

As Hermione, ensorcelled, took two stumbling steps toward her predator, a shriek rose from the audience. The spell shattered, and she swayed and would have fallen if two strong hands hadn't caught her shoulders and held her tight. 'Minerva!' Snape shouted almost in her ear, not letting Hermione go. She turned in Snape's grasp to look in the direction of the shriek and saw students backing away from the empty place where Professor McGonagall had just been sitting. Dumbledore, on his feet faster than she had seen him move in months, swept students and faculty out of the way and approached the empty table, his eyes wary.

'No, Potter!' Snape hissed, still holding Hermione tightly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harry, his wand out and teeth bared, pull up short.

'Wait,' said Snape.

Dumbledore suddenly laughed--a deep, genuine laugh, the kind of laugh that hadn't echoed within Hogwarts' crumbling halls for far too long. He took a step back. A tabby cat with square markings around its eyes hopped onto the table, regarded Dumbledore steadily, and meowed twice.

'Minerva,' said Dumbledore, laughter still bubbling in his voice.

'Oh gods,' said Lupin. Low, incredulous murmurs erupted from various places in the room.

The tabby gathered itself into a soaring leap and landed almost at Snape's feet. As he and Hermione stared down, the cat stalked around the pair, completing a perfect circle.

'Do you think you can change back, Minerva?' said Dumbledore softly.

In a blink, McGonagall appeared. Not a single hair of her bun was out of place.

'A very effective invocation,' she said dryly, though her face glowed and a smile trembled at the corners of her mouth. 'Congratulations.'

'Thank you, Minerva,' said Snape, for all the world as if a colleague had just said something complimentary about a well-planned lesson. Hermione wondered if only she could hear the slight tremor in his voice.

McGonagall leaned a bit closer and whispered, 'I think you can safely let Miss Granger go, Severus.' She smiled mischievously. 'At least for now.'

'Oh.' Snape snatched his hands away from Hermione's shoulders and stepped back, clearing his throat. 'I trust you're well, Miss Granger.'

Hermione grinned, raising her eyebrows. 'Very well indeed, Professor Snape. I'm looking forward to the final round.'

* * *

**Author's Notes and Special Acknowledgements:**

--Hermione's 'You are the hollow man' draws its overall structure and much wording from Stanza I of 'The Hollow Men' by T.S. Eliot (1888 - 1963). Other fanfic writers who have recently used a 'hollow man' metaphor for Snape include JestersTear (creator of the WIKTT 'Hollow Man' Challenge) and Doomspark, whose 'Invictus' is a response to that challenge.

--I'm grateful to FriendlyQuark for giving me permission to riff on her delightful depiction of Snape-as-a-cat in 'A Terrible Temptation.' Thank you, Barrie! 'The cat's song' by American poet Marge Piercy (b. 1936) seemed irresistibly perfect for Snape and forms the basis of his seduction-spell 'Mine.'

Warm thanks to Retkula, Wacoramaco87, and Alaynthe for reviewing . . . I do hope you'll enjoy the original poems as well!


	11. The Filament of Light

**Title:** Looking for Magic in All the Right Places

**Chapter Eleven:** The Filament of Light

**Genre:** Romance, Humour, and my response to the WIKTT 'Summer School Challenge.'

**Rating:** PG-13

**Warning:** Occasional poetry!

**Disclaimer:** Please see Chapter One.

**Acknowledgements:** See Author's Notes for sources and thanks to reviewers.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven:** The Filament of Light

'What in the name of chaos do you _think_ happened?' snapped Parvati, exasperated beyond belief by how thick her classmates were about matters of the heart. 'Snape created a love-spell! If that stupid cow Millicent hadn't screamed when she did, I bet Hermione would have kissed him in front of everybody.'

'That's disgusting,' said Ron, his face wrinkling as if he'd bitten a lemon. 'And no way does that explain how McGonagall regained her Animagus powers.'

'McGonagall was in the front row,' said Padma. 'And Snape's poem was about a cat, remember? She was close enough to feel a kind of--er--side-effect.'

'Miss Know-It-All and the Greasy Git have obviously been working _a lot_ on their chemistry,' Lavender smirked.

'Lav, haul your mind out of the gutter,' said Padma fiercely. 'What's happening isn't sordid. It's _magic_!'

Heated conversations of a similar kind had broken out all around the room. Many eyes kept glancing over at Hermione and Snape--who, as it happened, were nowhere near each other. Hermione stood with Harry, both looking tense, and Snape had converged with several senior faculty on the two Muggle judges (by this time, of course, the two literary guests were quite used to being converged upon). McCourt appeared to be listening hard to Dumbledore, and Jones was obviously trying to referee an argument between Lupin and Snape.

'What's taking the judges so long?' said Dean. 'There's three contestants left. Declare them all winners, wave our wands around a bit and try to raise some magic one more time, then go to Hogsmeade to celebrate the end of sodding summer school!'

'The rules say only two winners,' said Ron.

'Why?'

'Dunno. Maybe Dumbledore's got only two prizes.'

'Right. One old mop and one old bucketÑsouvenirs from the Headmaster's office.'

Under cover of all the arguments, Harry said in a low voice to Hermione: 'I've decided I'm going to bow out.'

'Why?' said Hermione, startled.

'Look, 'Mione, I don't know what's going on between you and Snape, and gods help me, I'm not sure I really _want_ to know. At least not in detail. But'--he raised his hand as Hermione opened her mouth, ready to protest that nothing, absolutely _nothing_, was going on '--I think you two are the only hope we have of invoking any magic powerful enough to last more than two seconds.'

'But Harry, _you've_ raised magic. Better than almost any of us.'

'Not the right kind. And not like you two. So'--he smiled crookedly '--It's up to you. Break a leg.'

Harry stepped up to the judges' table and, within about ten seconds, had ended all bickering.

=============

The two contestants stood a few feet apart in the centre of a crowded, stuffy classroom, in the heart of a thousand-year-old crumbling heap of stones and archways. Surrounded by tense, breathing bodies; the focus of dozens of eager eyes . . . yet far as Hermione was concerned, she and Snape were the only souls in the universe: two points of light in a galaxy of darkness.

The time had come to open herself to all possibilities. Hermione filled her lungs and breathed power, imagined expanding past the bounds of flesh to touch, with longing and shy delight, the dark quiet presence standing nearby.

'O make this dancer dance,  
this liquid centre spin--  
speak the spell unbinding  
the flesh I stand within.

For it is you I seek,  
The strange heat-death of desire;  
I, blind as blundering moth  
Circling a heart of fire.

O let this dancer dance,  
This yearning centre spin,  
That I, opening at last,  
May let such power in.'

As Snape began his response, the silence was so profound that he could have whispered each word, and everyone in the back rows would have heard him.

'A fleet, unwary spider.  
I mark how close to shadows you climb, entranced,  
Mark how you probe the dangerous dark surrounding  
By sending forth filament, filament, filament out of yourself;  
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.  
And I, o my heart, where I stand  
Sundered, detached, in measureless realms of night,  
Stumbling, seeking, finding, breaking all spells that bind me  
Till the bridge I will need to be formed, till the slender anchor hold,  
Till I catch the filament of light you fling, o my heart.'

As Snape ended his invocation he extended his hand palm up, fingers cupped in the ancient sign of openness. What happened next made Hermione draw an astonished breath. His hand began to glow, and the glow gathered substance, spilling goldenly over his fingers. Snape did not move, and Hermione forgot to breathe, as the light lengthened, extended, and sent itself forth. As the glowing filament reached her, she held out both hands and watched awestruck as the weightless warmth coalesced within her open palms.

In that moment she held wonder. Nothing existed in the world but joy.

The golden light in her hands began to fade. 'Lumos,' Hermione whispered without thinking, and the glow brightened slightly.

Snape had moved close enough to touch her. Now he cupped his hands around hers, protecting the light.

'Lumos Ardesco.' His dark, silky voice was charged with power.

The light strengthened, pulsated, and spilled out of Hermione's palms. It moved up their arms, outlining their bodies in gold.

Hermione looked at Severus. Transfigured by the magic he had created and she had nurtured, his face glowed with a transcendent joy that must have mirrored her own expression. But he wasn't looking at the light. He was looking at her. Hermione smiled, letting him see into her heart.

'Lumos Ardoris,' she said in a clear, confident voice. The light expanded and rose above their heads--a cloud of swirling gold, filling the room with beauty.

'Lumos.' Harry had his wand out. Its tip glowed like the heart of a silver sun.

'Lumos.' Dumbledore invoked blue fire.

'Lumos.' Lupin traced fiery crimson shapes in the air, laughing with joy.

And then . . . 'Lumos.' 'Lumos.' One by one, some eagerly and some timidly, students brought their wands out and called forth magic. The simplest magic: one of the first spells every witchling and wizardling learns, and one of the last they forget before death takes them. But still--magic. Within a minute all wands were glowing with all colours of the spectrum.

Joy spilled out of the DADA classroom and rolled down the shabby halls of Hogwarts.

McCourt and Jones had wisely elected to stay seated and out of the way. McCourt was holding onto the edge of the table with both hands, but his face glowed with wonder. Jones kept shaking her head and smiling.

'Man oh man, I wish I could do _that_,' she said. 'I'd grab me some serious attention at the New York Slam.'

'Well,' said McCourt, taking a deep breath, 'If they've got their magic back again, God bless Ôem, maybe that means they'll be cooking their own meals now.'

A tabby cat leapt lightly onto the table beside Dumbledore and leaned into his free hand, purring with enormous self-satisfaction.

=============

On Friday, the very last day of summer school for would-be Muggles, the June dawn woke no one at Hogwarts, for the entire population had been up all night, patrolling halls and classrooms with wands aloft, tripping over hysterical house-elves, having impromptu parties at the tops of staircases, and invoking magic everywhere. Hogwarts glowed as students and faculty invoked spells to reverse its deterioration. When sunlight crept through the lead-paned windows, it became apparent that the ancient school was restoring itself more rapidly than anyone had imagined it could after such long, slow damage. Cracks began to heal; cobwebs vanished and silverfish fled. Dozens of long-frozen stairs began to creak into motion, slowly, as if testing stiff limbs. Some of the portraits stirred, their tenants peering out from behind the frames to make sure everything was quite in order before settling down. Nearly Headless Nick and the Bloody Baron became more opaque by the minute, and whilst the Baron had never been much for socialising, Nick called out cheerily to everyone, even people he didn't like very much.

As the morning continued to brighten, Dumbledore and the senior faculty called everyone together in front of the doors leading into the Great Hall.

'I think it's safe for us to re-enter the heart of Hogwarts,' said the Headmaster, and with a flick of his wand, the great doors swung open. Jaws dropped and a great, soft 'Oohhh' arose from the crowd of seventh-years. The Hall was filled with sunlight. The ceiling, so dark and shabby only weeks ago, was summer-brilliant blue. The tables, polished to a shine, groaned with steaming platters, jugs of pumpkin juice, and pots of coffee and tea.

Everyone swirled in, laughing. Jones, McCourt, Beckham, and the other Muggle visitors, who had never seen the Great Hall before in all its glory, couldn't take their eyes off the ceiling, and ended up stumbling into various people and things before McGonagall and Lupin took pity and guided them, smiling, to the head table.

'Brill. Bloody brill,' Ron couldn't stop saying between mouthfuls of sausage and eggs.

Harry just grinned. He hadn't stopped grinning since the moment he had called forth that first silver light from the tip of his wand.

'And the best part is--we don't have to sit with Snape and the Slytherins any more,' Ron added.

'Speaking of Snape,' said Padma, who for all intents and purposes had become an honorary Gryffindor, 'has anyone seen Hermione?'

'Hmm,' said Harry. 'Come to think of it, not since last night.'

'Think she's alright?' said Ron, his brow wrinkling.

'Hey. Suss this out,' said Dean softly, nodding toward the head table where faculty and visitors ate, talked, smiled, and laughed. Dumbledore, in his customary place in the middle with McGonagall beside him, looked as if he had shed years overnight.

'So what?' said Ron.

'Look again, you sad bastard. Who's _missing_?'

'Bugger,' said Ron in a hushed voice. _'Snape_.'

Parvati whooped with laughter. 'Hermione and Snape! I _told_ you!'

Lavender looked as if she'd been handed the keys to Gringott's vaults. 'How much do you want to bet that _right now_, at this _very minute_, they're--'

'Oh belt up, Lav!' snapped Ron, leaping to his feet. 'C'mon Harry. Let's go find 'Mione and make sure she's okay.'

'Ron. Ron.' Padma pulled him back down. 'You know what? I think Hermione's okay. Trust me.'

'But--'

'Ron,' said Harry, draping an arm over his friend's shoulders. 'You know what you said a few minutes ago about not having to sit with Snape anymore?'

'Yeah.'

'I have a funny feeling you'll have check with 'Mione about that, mate.'

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

--Hermione's finale, 'O make this dancer dance,' adapts three stanzas from 'Song' by the Australian poet Judith Wright (1915 - 2000).

--Snape's 'A fleet, unwary spider' is a partially re-worded version of 'A Noiseless Patient Spider' by the American poet Walt Whitman (1819-1892).

--'Ardesco' means 'I take fire' (thank you 'gthistle' in LnLS for your translation/correction!) and 'Ardoris' means loved one.

**My warmest thanks . . .** To Madeleine Jete, Purple Spotted Hedwig, Snape's Secrets, Severusly Smitten, dragongirl, and again, Michaela . . . I'm grateful for your kind and thoughtful comments! To Snape's Secrets--'Sean McCourt' and 'Maxine Jones' are composite characters. One was loosely inspired by Frank McCourt, author of _Angela's Ashes_ (and his brother Malachy is also a writer and actor). There is a real poet named Maxine Tynes as well. To Madeleine--I love medieval ceilings too . . . but clearly Hermione doesn't!

Short EPILOGUE to follow


	12. Epilogue: A Theory Worth Testing

**Title:** Looking for Magic in All the Right Places -- COMPLETE.

**Genres:** Romance & humour. The final chapter of my response to the WIKTT 'Summer School Challenge.'

**Rating:** PG-13

**Warning:** Occasional poetry!

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One.

* * *

**Epilogue:** A Theory Worth Testing

'It's breakfast time.'

Hermione, touching the roses that had opened fully since the first light of dawn, looked over her shoulder and smiled.

'Look at them. Yesterday they were dead. Now . . .'

Snape moved up beside her and looked wryly at the blooms. 'They don't like me very much,' he said. 'I blasted some of these bushes once in a fit of temper.'

Hermione chuckled. 'Oh yes. The fourth-year Yule Ball. You'd better keep a respectful distance.'

'What about breakfast? Aren't you hungry?'

'After being up all night? Starving. But--' Hermione moved past a splashing fountain to one of the carved benches and sat down. 'I don't feel like being with all those--people-- right now.'

'Neither do I.' He sat next to her, keeping a respectful distance. Both fixed their eyes carefully on the rose bushes, the dancing waters, and the sun-drenched grounds beyond.

After a while, Snape said, 'I sent your chemistry exam results off to Cambridge yesterday.'

'Oh?'

'And I should tell you--'

'I know. I didn't do very well, did I?'

'How you _do_ jump to conclusions, Miss Granger! I was about to say you received an almost perfect score.'

Hermione beamed. 'Really? I'd given it all up as a disaster. And the strange thing is that I didn't care. All I could think about was . . .'

'Yes?'

She blushed. 'Finding the right words. Finding magic.'

'Is that all you found?' said Snape very softly, not looking at her.

'Well,' said Hermione, striving for lightness. 'I'd say breaking Voldemort's last curse and restoring Hogwarts to glory isn't a bad night's work.'

'O let this dancer dance,  
This yearning centre spin,  
That I, opening at last,  
May let such power in.'

In the clear light of a late June morning, it embarrassed her to hear him repeat her passionate words from the night before. Why else would her face flush and her breathing quicken?

'Did you _mean_ those words, Miss Granger? Once such an invocation is uttered, it takes on a life and power of its own. Possibly a dangerous power.'

She turned to glare at him. 'What are you saying, Professor?'

He still wouldn't look at her. 'I'm saying--are you sure you chose the right words?'

'_I_? What about _you_? "Till the bridge I will need to be formed, till the slender anchor hold/Till I catch the filament of light you fling, o my heart,"' Hermione shot back. 'Isn't that a rather dangerous thing to say to someone who was still your student? Are you sure you weren't just using me to invoke the _right _emotion?'

Now Snape faced her, his mouth drawn tight and his eyes as cold and uncompromising as if he were about to punish a second-year who'd just made her cauldron explode.

'As of today, you're no longer my student. For which I'm profoundly grateful.'

'Oh--the gratitude is mutual.'

'The last time I checked, Miss Granger, you had a brain,' Snape said, his voice dangerously quiet. '_Think_. Do you honestly believe we could have invoked _and_ sustained this order of magic if either one of us hadn't been fully committed? Fully open to all possibilities? Last night, and now, and . . . '

Snape stopped himself. Hermione took a deep, slow breath.

'Last night, and now, and . . . what?' she said, as carefully as if each word were a footfall on thin ice.

He dropped his gaze. 'And . . . very likely irrelevant, given your plans.' His tone became businesslike. 'I imagine you'll be in Cambridge for at least four years. Longer if you pursue graduate studies.'

Now it was Hermione who looked away. 'Until this week--until last night--I was convinced I had no other choice than to leave Hogwarts as soon as summer school was over. And I didn't think I'd ever be coming back. What would have been the point? Now--everything's changed. Everything! Or at least I thought so until about fifteen seconds ago.'

'I don't understand.'

'That's when you implied quite strongly that you don't care one way or the other if I turn my back on the wizarding world. "Irrelevant, given your plans." You know all about my plans, do you? Quite an assumption, considering I'm no longer your student.'

His head snapped up. Their eyes met. His expression was wary, guarded.

'You mentioned something else oh--thirty seconds ago,' Hermione said 'about being open to all possibilities. You said "Last night, and now, and . . ." And _what_?'

'I'll answer your question if you answer mine. Last night--did you choose the right words?'

Hermione raised her chin, ready with a tart reply. The taut expression on his pale face brought her up short.

At that moment, she understood the time had come to speak what was in her heart.

'Yes. I chose those words and I meant them.'

Snape's eyes flared, losing their cold opaqueness. 'Hermione, I owe you nothing less than the truth. You're right--I was using you at first. I sensed you felt something for me other than fear and loathing, much as it tested the bounds of belief for me to think so. I thought I could use that emotion. But--' he gave a short, bitter laugh --'I had forgotten that the most effective invocations are like a binding contract, requiring complete commitment from both parties to work properly.'

'It took both of us to raise the power,' Hermione whispered.

Snape's eyes never left hers. 'And my part of that contract is now signed, sealed, and delivered.'

The core of her and the world around her became liquid light.

'You still haven't answered my question,' she said, her mouth dry.

'I was thinking about possibilities. Not only last night, when we invoked magic; or right now, as we sit so close to these blasted rose bushes; but tomorrow, as you decide your future. And then beyond tomorrow.'

'Severus.' At the sound of his name coming from her lips his heart opened, and the damaged wings of his spirit began a slow unfurling.

'I have a theory,' she said, her face serious but her eyes laughing.

'Tell me.'

'If you and I were the catalyst for bringing magic back, then I suspect you and I will need to work together to make sure Hogwarts stays in one piece.'

Snape took her hand. 'That theory is well worth testing.' His warm fingers entwined with hers.

'Ah, Severus! Miss Granger!' Snape dropped Hermione's hand as Dumbledore, beaming, came down the steps of the Main Entrance towards them.

'Are you planning to join us in the Great Hall? The house-elves have truly outdone themselves today.'

'Erm--yes, of course sir,' said Hermione, standing up a bit too quickly.

'No, no. No need to come in immediately. Plenty of time. Please sit down again, Miss Granger.' After a curious glance at Snape, Hermione sat.

'I wanted to tell you earlier, though of course we've all been a little busy' said Dumbledore, his blue eyes merry, 'that according to the judges and--I think it's safe to say--the popular vote, you took first place in the Invocation Slam, Severus. Which means you took second place, Miss Granger. Congratulations to you both.'

Snape inclined his head. 'Thank you, Headmaster.'

'And I couldn't help noticing,' Dumbledore said, smiling mischievously, 'that you've each already claimed your prize.'

* * *

'By these words, enlightened,  
By joy, unchained,  
By magic, reclaimed,  
By one kiss, set free.'

FINITE INCANTATUM


End file.
